


Layers

by werpiper



Series: in the icing: Layers side stories [9]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Aphasia, Arkenstone - Freeform, Assorted Sexual Acts, Bathing/Washing, Battle, Beard Braiding, Betrayal, Bodywork, Breastfeeding, Brotherhood, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Deaths + Fix-its, Commemorative Jewelry, Complete, Creation Myth, Defensive Architecture, Dogs, Dragon Sickness, Drunkenness, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Economics, Exhibitionism, First Time, Fix-Its Using Original Stock Parts, Food Sharing, Fortune Telling, Genderfuck, Gifts, Goblins, Gold Sickness, Growing up too soon, Hair Braiding, Happy Ending, Hunters & Hunting, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Relationship(s), Linguistics, Lock-picking, Locksmithing, Love, Martial Arts, Massage, Mischief, Misgendering, Multi, Nonbinary Dwarves, Nostalgia, Not AU, Oaths & Vows, Other, Past (original) Character Death, Piercings, Pipeweed, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Promiscuity, Psychotropic Drugs, References to Gender Violence, References to Racial Violence, Ring Lore, Rope Bondage, Sex Talk, Shieldbrothers, Sign Language, Smooching, Stone Sense, Stonework, Tactile Language, The One Ring - Freeform, Toys, Underwear, Underwear Theft, Verbal Bondage, body modesty, fertility, play, ponies, sorry no "they just woke up a little injured" stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 112
Words: 132,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werpiper/pseuds/werpiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stone-sense, culture clash, plenty of porn, and the enigma of Nori: the Quest, as experienced by Dwalin son of Fundin, Company Master-at-Arms and Defense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nori was originally Dwalin's idea. He narrowed his eyes at Thorin. "When we're on the road. When we're broke and lost and we need something. You want me to have to fight for it? Or you think you can ask Men or Elves to pay you tribute as king?"

The last was intended to sting, and it did, which meant Thorin looked grim and didn't answer directly. "Why him, though?" was the only response.

"Because he's got no criminal record," said Dwalin again, very patiently. "Which means I've never caught him. Which means he's by far the best thief in your halls, and has been for at least sixty years."

Thorin huffed and sighed, Balin's eyebrows knitted, and they went back to discussing how much meat could be hunted on the journey, versus how much would need to be purchased and preserved and carried along. Dwalin already knew how this one would end -- it was an excuse to sign on Kili, green though the youth might be -- so he ignored it, and crossed both 'thief' and 'hunter' off his personal staffing list.

Dori and Ori, though, were Nori's idea. The contract that Thorin had sent was returned in triplicate, in what was apparently Ori's extremely fine handwriting, and specified the two additional brothers 'of the house of Ri' as 'porter' and 'scribe'. Nori was still delicately termed 'supplier at need' in his documentation, and his signature was an illegible scrawl of red ink. Well enough, thought Dwalin, and two more dwarves wouldn't hurt the plan in any case. There might be no way Thorin could raise an army, but the endeavor was approaching the size of a respectable drinking brawl. Dwalin would take what they could get.


	2. Chapter 2

Nori proved useful as soon as the company hit the road.

Like all important undertakings, the quest to reclaim Erebor began with half a dozen false starts. Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin were standing at the gates at dawn, but the first to arrive was Gimli, Gloin's young one, all packed and ready -- who had to be turned around and packed off back home, where Gloin was turning their household upside down looking for him to say goodbye. Then Bifur came and although he was already accounted for ('warrior and craftsman') he hadn't actually been able to sign his contract, and Balin groaned and sweated until Bofur arrived and said he'd translate into Iglishmek and witness Bifur's careful drawing of a (Mahal knew why) six-pointed star. Then they made it as far as the inn where their baggage had been collected, but the (very expensive) ponies weren't there. Finally Ori turned up -- a sweet-faced, gentle-voiced young fellow, who said apologetically that the House of Ri had already traced the ponies out to a farmhouse, and Dori and Nori would be along any moment, if Thorin and company didn't mind a brief wait?

Dwalin probably minded, but the innkeeper served up coffee and bacon and sweet cinnamon rolls, which kept his temper well in check. And Dori (the 'porter') and Nori ('supplies') arrived before he'd half eaten his fill, with sixteen ponies (had they really gotten three extra? -- it certainly helped with the baggage) all tacked up, and all the dwarves were swept into their saddles and on their way not a candlemark later. The day was sunny and windy, and Dwalin wished they had a banner. He and Thorin started a song, and most of the company joined in -- Kili's voice had finally settled, and all in all he thought they sounded rather fine. When they had finished with an especially rousing chorus, he took a deep draught from the canteen slung from his pommel, and -- 

Dwalin reined back until he was riding next to Bombur ('quartermaster, cook'). A similar canteen, an unfamiliar design with a teardrop shape and a mechanical top that stayed closed until one sucked on it, hung from his saddle as well. Dwalin pointed at it. "Bombur," he said, "do you remember specifying these?"

The quartermaster shook his head. "I didn't," he said. "Was wondering about it when we were mounting up, too. Not always going to be convenient to stop whenever you want a bite or a sip, is it? But these were on the tack when the Ri brothers delivered the ponies. Nori said they were part of the deal."

He indicated another small satchel that hung behind his canteen, a clever little thing with several insulated pockets, presently holding raisins and cheese and walnuts and a thick hunk of dried meat. Dwalin's own saddle bore an identical one. He looked over at Nori, who was riding a bit ahead and off to the right of most of the party, apparently watching the back of a caravan that dusted up the road some ways ahead. A part of the deal, he thought, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Dwalin never thought of himself as a sociable dwarf. He loved his family, and was glad both his cousins and his brother were with them. He'd been raised with Thorin close as a brother too, and known Fili and Kili all their short lives. But though many of the Company were strangers, they were his shield-mates now. He watched them all, trying to learn who they were.

Strangest of course was the Wizard, a creature out of legends. Walking along tirelessly, tall as Dwalin himself astride a pony, with a ready smile and free about sharing his pipeweed. As legends went, Dwalin decided cautiously that this one was all right to travel with, and for all he knew might even be of some use against the eventual dragon.

Bifur had been a fighter and a brilliant one. Whatever of his mind was gone, lost in muttering Khuzdul, his body remembered. He drilled every evening with knives and spear, and brought down a boar their third night on the road. The Company feasted that night, and toasted the old hero. Dwalin saluted him, feeling nothing but respect.

Bombur cleaned and hacked that boar into pieces that would cook in the time available to a traveling party, salted the remaining meat and boiled the bones. He might or might not fight, but an army travels on its stomach, and Dwalin knew to appreciate their cook. Bofur carved the tusks into new beads for Bifur to wear -- Dwalin didn't quite see the use of him, but he was cheerful and kind, and easy enough to travel with.

The Ri brothers were an odd lot. Ori was nothing but sweet and smiling, and always with pen in hand. Dori was shockingly handsome, with braids like mithril spun into chainmail, and, Dwalin suspected, stronger than even himself -- when one of the pack-ponies got mired in the ditch, it was Dori who heaved up its hindquarters and got the beast out. But Nori, with his loud purple hood and elaborate stylings, was the one who seemed to be always silently watching Dwalin back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a lot of time is spent in dwalin's head. more dialogue will be forthcoming, i expect, but i seem to have to go through this first. apologies to any who find introspection dull!

Dwalin considered being disappointed that it wasn't the gorgeous Dori looking at him, but consideration gave him notice that Dori might have eyes for Balin. A lifetime of younger-brotherhood had taught him respect: he would never yield to Balin on the field of arms (at least not until he had been thoroughly thrashed), but in everything else, Dwalin gave his elder pride of place. Sometimes he thought Balin needed the support; other times he simply believed he deserved it. Dwalin was a simple creature of strength and courage and fighting skill. His older brother was more and subtler things: a diplomat, a voice of wisdom, a discoverer and teller of truths. Dwalin loved him far too dearly to ever consider competing with him.

Nori was anything but simple. He liked his meals; at every breakfast and supper he praised Bombur to the skies. At the same time, he ate lightly, and always seemed to fold something into his (essentially his, though everyone had them) nifty insulated saddlebags for later. He was devoted to his brothers, but Dori watched him with a kind of resigned wariness, and Ori with an opposing blind devotion -- when Nori's pony threw a shoe, Ori boosted his brother up behind him and they rode double till evening, but Dori inspected the animal from ears to tail before allowing Thorin (who had been for many years a blacksmith) to simply replace the iron arc.

And Nori simply didn't have his elder brother's striking looks, though he might in a few years, if Mahal blessed him with the same beautiful shining hair. As it was his hair was darkest red, thick and ridiculously over-styled for traveling, teased up and braided until the symbolic meanings were so dense as to be entirely obscured to Dwalin's eyes. He considered asking Balin for interpretation; decided against it. Anything Nori wanted Dwalin to know, they'd better figure out between themselves.

But if Nori wanted Dwalin to know anything, he wasn't particularly forthcoming about it. There were looks, to be sure; then again Nori seemed to observe everyone, as if they were a battleground and he a strategist. This aroused in Dwalin a hint of jealousy; he wanted to be special, the biggest and strongest (aside from Nori's own brother) and perhaps the most desirable. So he began to show off a little: giving Nori a hearty leg-up onto his mount in the mornings, to practice mounted axe-drills while riding beside him (fortunately his own pony was a steady sort, and if Nori's occasionally side-stepped and snorted, Dwalin thought this might enhance the effect), to haul extra fir-branches to cushion the House of Ri's bedrolls during the night (and if it was Dori who thanked him politely, still he saw Nori's thin smile behind, and even Ori's weary and delighted grin).

But it wasn't until they arrived in the Shire that Dwalin saw Nori's emotions surpass his control, and learned a bit about who this strange, secretive being he had invited into the Company might actually be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overnight at Bag End.

Dwalin wasn't much impressed by Tharkun's choice of a burglar. For one thing, the fellow was clearly inexperienced -- his belongings were all so definitively _his_ , from his mother's glory-box to his tailored little waistcoat to the good fat sausages in his pantry. Dwalin almost felt like a thief himself as he pulled down that rope of sausages. But if Tharkun had his way -- as the wizard usually seemed to -- they'd all be out of there in the morning, and no use leaving sausages to spoil.

If Dwalin was unimpressed, Nori was positively sneering. When the hobbit's back was turned, he opened a case and lifted out a set of silver serving spoons, and two minutes later replaced them with a blackened branch they'd been using to poke potatoes around their fire-coals. He similarly exchanged a boot-rag for the doily off an armchair, a tent stake for a brass-headed walking stick (knee-high to a dwarf, but nice materials), and then lifted a coin from the hobbit's purse and placed it out of sight on the lintel above a door. When he noticed Dwalin watching, he rolled his eyes, and the hobbit noticed nothing at all.

After dinner Dwalin unfurled his bedroll in the foyer, having determined that no couch or bed in the domicile was large enough to allow him to lie down. Tharkun's voice at its most reasonable floated in around the door: "Nobody's suggesting he's taking your place, Master of Ri. A burglar is not involved at all in supplying a company's needs. The burglar will be there for..." there was a dramatic pause, "the dragon."

"The dragon," replied Nori, with his own mocking pause, "would have to be blinder than the hobbit himself to let that fool snatch a wooden nickel. What do you mean by wanting him, really?"

"Only that he will have his part to play," said the wizard peaceably, "as you have yours, Nori. Now, will you share a pipe with me, or would you rather go to sleep?"

"Here's a few pipes, and some nice weed too I think," answered Nori savagely. Dwalin opened the door at that, and on a little bench on the porch sat Tharkun, Nori, and Ori, and in Nori's hands were half a dozen small but beautifully-carved pipes and three little stamped pouches full of leaves. Nori looked up, and favored Dwalin with an edgy grin. "Join us for a smoke, guardsman?"

"I'm no guardsman here," said Dwalin carefully, sitting down by Nori's feet (there wasn't room on the bench). Tharkun huffed and lit his own pipe. Nori packed one of the little ones and leaned towards Tharkun for a light. The wizard's eyebrows lowered dangerously, but he obliged, and Nori leaned back with a grin and blew a perfect ring. He generously packed two more and handed them around, and Tharkun lit them. Dwalin pursed his mouth around the delicate stem, and found the smoke pleasantly warm and apple-tasting. "Good stuff," he said, "thanks."

Nori patted him on the shoulder, which was pleasant if a little strange. "Part of the package," he said, and it was unclear whether he meant himself, his hobbit rival, or some combination thereof. "Enjoy."

Dwalin went so far as to lean back a little with his head on the bench-seat between Nori and his brother, moving slowly, very casual. The closeness felt good, as did the smoke, and after he'd finished his pipe he even dozed off for a bit, a soldier's habit of catching his sleep whenever he could. When he roused, Nori's leg had somehow come to rest over his arm, which also felt pretty good. He looked up and saw the thief watching him, eyes a little wide, very still. Then Nori stood, graceful and unentangled, gave an exaggerated yawn, and shook his little brother's shoulder. "C'mon, Ori, time for bed," he said softly, and led the youngster back through the door. Tharkun's eyes might have been twinkling a little, but Dwalin put on a yawn himself for show, and returned to his place on Bag End's floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Dwalin got up early, because everyone else seemed eager to be back on the road, and his bulk in the foyer entirely blocked the door. Fili and Kili hopped over him smartly, but their boots made an infernal racket on the tiles, and Bombur (carrying another rope of sausages, were they all thieves now?) actually trod on his moustache. It was much quicker to leave Bag End than to break a camp -- no tents to pack, no fire to clear -- and at dawn they were mounted and riding away, without the hobbit after all.

Or after not all, because before they'd got half a mile the little creature came running after them, waving his signed contract. Dwalin glanced at Nori and was surprised to see the sharp grin again, then less surprised as Dori and Gloin passed over a belt-knife and a handful of coin respectively. And Nori welcomed the new burglar very politely, helping him onto a pony and demonstrating how to work the drinking canteen.

After lunch (cold sausage, and if Bilbo recognized it he didn't mention) Dwalin guided his mount towards Nori's side. He put on his best approximation of a teasing grin, and asked, "How do you like traveling with a colleague?"

Nori shrugged. "I was there when Erebor fell," he answered shortly. "I don't want to try lifting a wooden nickel off that dragon myself."

The smile fell from Dwalin's face as he nodded. He'd thought the thief younger than that, but he had his own memories of Smaug. "I'm not hoping to have him in single combat," he admitted, and Nori actually laughed.

"Perhaps our wizard will find a battering-ram to stand in for you," he said, not unkindly. Dwalin huffed, decided not to be insulted, and pushed his pony up the line towards Thorin. To his surprise, Nori followed. Thorin nodded to them, and Nori started singing "The Battering-Ram". Dwalin was briefly surprised that anyone outside the army even knew that one, but Thorin and Balin immediately picked up the tune, and Bifur behind them (on the kindest of the ponies) clapped out a rhythm. By the second verse, Dwalin had decided to be flattered, and joined in.

They sang all afternoon, and Dwalin liked Nori's voice -- it was neither resonant nor deep, but thin and clear and crisply enunciated, everything his own was not. He also liked Nori's fancy hair, the easy way he sat his sidling spooky pony, and the way a certain brass-headed walking-stick now protruded obviously from one of the hobbit's saddlebags. Next question was, was he going to do anything about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that before recorded music, everybody sang a lot more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The possibly-inevitable bathing scene, and wherein we finally acquire both a bit of dwarf-gender material and some sign of the E rating.

Dwarves were not, amongst themselves, a body-modest people. They boasted thick, protective hair and skin, and the sexual and reproductive parts of their bodies were not fragile or intrusive, like those of certain other races not designed by the great Lord Maker. Increased contact with such races had led to two twists in Dwalin's experience since the flight from Erebor. For one, most everyone was now "male" in common terms, and for another, younger dwarves kept their clothes on in the most ridiculous circumstances.

Bathing, for example. When Fili and Kili returned from a scouting run with news of a set of springs adequately removed from the common road and having formed several rocky pools, there was a general cry of joy. Dwalin set off with Grasper and Keeper, bushwhacking a pony-passable trail to a nearby field while Dori and Bofur managed the beasts; everybody else seized soap and their laundry and disappeared to get clean. When Dwalin got to the pools he was exhausted -- ponies being much larger than even a very large dwarf -- but looking forward to the view at least as much as to getting the sweat off.

Oin was applying salve to poor Bombur's saddle-sores, and Dwalin politely looked away from that scene. The rest of the dwarves were splashing and scrubbing and combing, and Dwalin paused to watch appreciatively. Bifur really was a gloriously-built warrior, and sparkling with water-drops, the axe-head looked almost like a frightening warrior's ornament. The sight of Thorin never disappointed, and Fili and Kili were well-raised dwarves and growing up to be good-looking (Kili needed to eat more; Dwalin made a note to fuss at him at meals). But Nori and Ori, along with the hobbit, were actually wearing their linens in the water, soaping right through them, as if doing laundry were an integrated element of bodily hygiene.

Dori and Bofur arrived with their arms full of saddle pads. Bofur naked was a pleasing sight, and Dori a vision -- his bodily pelt was as mithril-bright as the hair on his head, springing up in curls even soaking wet. Balin caught Dwalin's eye, and Dwalin realized he'd been staring -- he gave his brother a not-very-repentant grin, and set to removing his own gear. He knew what he looked like, and rather liked giving a show.

He started by placing his axes on the ground at right angles, then pulling off the knuckledusters. He flexed his fingers, feeling them weightless without weaponry, and solemnly noted his scars and tattoos. Then he remembered his audience, and lazily sat to remove his boots and socks. He stood up to shed belt and trousers, untied the warg-skin and let it fall without flourish, and followed it with tunic, shirt, and -- slowly, decorously, figuring he was demonstrating civilized behavior to the young ones -- his underthings. Then he gathered the bundle tidily, smiled benignly upon the group, and made his way a little bit upstream to find a more private pool.

The clean water was blissful, and so, honestly, was the peace and quiet. For quite awhile Dwalin was content to simply lie in the sunshine and soak, cool clear water flowing over him, gently pulling away the detritus of the days. Eyes closed, he untangled his beard and the mane of his hair with his fingers, then he sank into water up to his chin with a groan.

When he opened his eyes he was not disappointed: Nori (fully dressed, alas) was perched on a rock nearby, between Dwalin's private soak and the rest of the group. He appeared to be looking off into the trees, but that was all right. Up to him just how much he decided to look.

Dwalin ducked his head, then reached back to the water's edge for his soap and a cloth. He started by carefully cleaning his hands and feet, nails included, then worked his way slowly inwards. He narrowed his eyes and groaned again when he got to work on his paps (Nori was definitely watching him then), taking his time and some pleasure there. 

As he approached his center, he took some time to position himself. Head leaned back on a flat stone (not quite directly pointed at his audience), knees up and feet apart, in water just deep enough to sluice thinly across his abs. Slowly he parted the thick hair and flesh of Mahal's apron, revealing his private parts and their ornamentation of bright gems. With both hands, the soap, and a glimpse of Nori through half-closed eyes, he roused his blood, stroking himself hard and wet. His vision blurred in the sunlight and the pleasure, and he let himself groan aloud again. Nori moved out of sight, but Dwalin could hear the other dwarf stepping closer. For an agonizing interval he slowed down, waiting for another sound, perhaps a splash of water -- but there was only wind in the trees and the bubbling spring, and Dwalin's own overheating body and mind. He grasped himself harder, rubbing his jewelry into his own flesh, and came hard with a sound he could not have stopped if he'd tried.

When he'd gasped himself back to normal, and washed again with soap, he cast a searching look around. Nori was gone, with no sign that he or anyone else had invaded the warrior's private bath. But when Dwalin climbed out and went to gather his things for laundering, there was one thing: his underclothes were missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My vision of Dwarf genitalia and other sex-influenced characteristics is my very own :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "After ecstasy, the laundry."

Scowling, Dwalin knelt by the spring and washed what he could. Socks were soaked, soaped, wrung out. The warg-pelt and boots took spot cleaning. His trousers weren't half bad, though the rough, sturdy cloth made Dwalin wince, unable to keep from imagining himself in Bombur's place with Oin. His shirt was stiff with sweat and his tunic stained; they received the same treatment as the socks. Once everything was spread to dry, and Dwalin was feeling foolish about not having dealt with his laundry before his pleasure, he stuffed his bare feet into boots and carefully searched the path he'd taken between the pools. No one remained at the larger spring except Ori with paper and a bit of graphite, biting his lip and staring at a wading bird, and Dwalin avoided him. But although dwarves see well in the dark, he did not like the shadows that began to grow and flutter beneath the leafy trees, and his smallclothes were not to be found.

He returned to his belongings and sharpened his axes -- they needed it after the bushwhacking -- until it was fully dark and the wind had turned chill. Then he put on the socks (a wise soldier cares first for his socks) and boots and trousers, and tied on the warg-pelt. His tunic and shirt needed to dry more, and besides he might look his most imposing thusly clad. He added the knuckledusters, Grasper, and Keeper, and headed for the ponies' field in search of camp.

First to reach him was the smell of good cooking -- someone had gathered an array of herbs and fresh meat as well. The camp had been set up very nicely, in a clearing well-thatched by overhanging trees and backed by boulders, with a clear view of the ponies grazing. There was even a second fire with a rack of branches over it, upon which quite a few garments were steaming dry, scented with rosemary and tended by Dori. Dwalin went straight to that and added his tunic and shirt, and on consideration stepped out of his boots and left his socks drying more as well. His undergarments weren't there, either.

At the other fire, Nori and Kili were playing a lilting duet on flute and fiddle while Fili and Ori turned ducks on a spit. Dwalin advanced on them, then hesitated. He'd definitely rather the young heirs remain ignorant of the trials in his trousers. So he waved at Nori, who bobbed his head cheerfully and played a trill. Dwalin waited, shifting uncomfortably between his feet, watching the fire light streaks of gold and copper in the peaks and valleys of Nori's hair, until the song was done. Then Dwalin stepped forward, saying in his mildest tones, "Master Nori, a word?"

Fili and Kili both seemed surprised -- it wasn't a voice Dwalin used around them very often. Nori said "Certainly; sir?" in an equally pleasant manner, putting down his flute, but instead of approaching he swapped places with his brother at the spit.

"In private, if I may," said Dwalin. 

Kili and Fili looked shocked. Fili stepped back towards the cooking, saying "We can spare you, Nor, and Ori can give us a solo..."

Nori shrugged and smiled, and followed Dwalin a little into the darkness, saying in his clear enunciation, "Of course. If there's any small way I can be of service, Master Dwalin?"

Dwalin bit his tongue and led away from the camp, until he thought they were likely out of anyone's earshot. "Smalls, Nori. Where are mine?"

There was no firelight there, but Dwalin could have sworn he saw a spark in Nori's eyes. "As far as I observed, Master Dwalin," said Nori politely, "you seemed to have discarded them."

Dwalin huffed in exasperation. If his size and scarred bare chest and warg-skin and weapons made any particular impression, Nori showed no sign of noticing. Nor did Dwalin think either Thorin or Dori would take kindly to much more attempted in intimidating a member of their party. So he said, "So I did, and now I cannot find them. I was wondering if your... skills..." He wasn't sure that saying "I think you took them, give them back!" would go over well at all. After a silent moment he went with, "If you might be able to help me to find them."

"I might!" Nori smiled, brief and bright. Dwalin was almost relieved. "Since this isn't a service for the Company as such," he continued, "shall we discuss some terms of private recompense?"

Dwalin wished he could see the other dwarf's face better in the darkness, but even the smile was gone now. What did Nori think of Dwalin walking around with one less layer, anyway? He decided to press it: "Do it for a kiss?"

"Hmm." The tone was considering, and Dwalin's irritation rose again, but Nori's teeth flashed and he added, "All right."

Dwalin was still a little angry. He seized the front of Nori's vest -- a handful of soft velvet and an oddly-notched button -- to pull the smaller dwarf in, and bent his head in the darkness. Nori made a small sound -- startlement perhaps, but Dwalin liked it, and liked finding Nori's mouth open, warm and tasting like wine behind his teeth. Dwalin pushed in harder, as Nori's tongue moved softly against his, then reached around Nori's back. For a moment his fingers sank deep into the springy softness above his braids; then something very sharp pricked his palm, and Dwalin gasped and let go.

"Now, take care," laughed Nori, perhaps a bit breathlessly. "Hairpins." He stepped away, and Dwalin lifted his own hand to his mouth and tasted blood. "Shall we go and look for your things, guardsman?"

Dwalin nodded, then realized he probably couldn't be seen in the dark. "Please," he answered, his own voice sounding strange in his ears. And Nori led the way back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first kiss, w00! :)


	9. Chapter 9

"I'da sworn I last saw my.... things in the woods," Dwalin grumbled as they neared the fires. He didn't want to be back among the company quite yet; there might be more to do with Nori in the dark and in private. Mahal's apron notwithstanding, his trousers chafed.

"Best to search here first," Nori said pleasantly. "Light's better, eh?"

That said, it wasn't much of a search. Nori went directly to the tidy array of packs and bedrolls -- looked like Dori must have laid them out -- and there was Dwalin's gear, and nicely folded on top were his undergarments. They were clean and dry and rosemary-scented, and a tear at the waistband had been mended with black thread, including a rune for strength. Dwalin huffed and Nori beamed. "Excellent well, Master Nori," Dwalin said, and went on, "I think you've earned more than a kiss."

There was a brief pause, and then Nori said lightly, "I'll have you in my debt, then." He turned away from Dwalin and went to the cookfire, where Bombur had begun to carve the birds on their spit. Ori and the princes were still making music, and Nori took up his flute and joined in.

Dwalin sighed, picked up his underclothes, and ducked behind a tree to put them on. Walking more comfortably after, he noticed Bifur watching, and the scarred fighter wagged an eyebrow and threw him a salute. Dwalin didn't know whether to be amused or embarrassed, but he grinned and saluted Bifur back.

Bombur clanged a pot and ladle just then, and Dwalin lined up for supper. There was plenty of food, fresh and well-cooked, much better than cram-rations on the usual battle road. Dwalin might not bet a wooden nickel on the outcome of this quest himself, given its outrageous goal and motley crew, but it was a merry enough journey and an interesting one. He looked around at his companions -- even Bilbo seemed cheerful enough that night. Whether they reclaimed said vegetal coinage from the dragon or not, perhaps the process would do Thorin some good. The King was actually unpacking his harp.

Thorin and the youngsters played, Bofur and Bombur sang, and Oin, Gloin, Balin, and the hobbit lit their pipes. Bifur and Dwalin cleaned up after supper with mechanically well-trained efficiency. Dori banked the cookfire and set to breaking a heap of downed branches to burn through the overnight watch. When the last of the dishes had been scrubbed and packed, the soldiers went to help.

Dori was not using an axe. When Dwalin approached, he picked up one of the larger logs -- thicker around than Dwalin's bicep -- and snapped it between his hands. "I saw you with my brother," said Dori, in dulcet tones. "I take it he's behaving like a gentleman?"

"None could be gentler," said Dwalin hastily. Bifur chuckled.

"Very pleased to hear, Master Dwalin," said Dori. "Our Nori's a good lad. A little impulsive, perhaps."

"A good lad indeed," echoed Dwalin. He reached for the wood that Dori held. "Help you with the stacking?"

"No, thank you, good soldiers; I'm nearly done here." Dori smiled sweetly, tossing the branch to the top of the pile. "Why don't you two go join the music? It's very pleasant listening." Dwalin fled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music! Promiscuity! Details of genital anatomy!
> 
> (I gather it's Nwalin week, and hope you'll all enjoy this in its larger Nwalin context, though the focus here is elsewhere. Please understand that Dori can be a total cockblock without half trying.)

The music was beautiful. Dwalin watched and listened, remembering again why people followed Thorin King even on hopeless quests. His voice rolled like thunder, and his fingers struck the harpstrings like rain. But unlike the weather, Thorin did not fall on everyone alike: he called to each dwarf as his own, calling them to their dreams.

Sometimes Dwalin couldn't tell where his own dreams started or Thorin's left off. They had been so many things together -- children, exiles, blacksmiths, shieldbrothers -- that it might not matter. This night was a dream that had taken on life, raising this sound to the open sky between disaster, refuge, and destiny. Erebor -- the Arkenstone and the dragon -- mattered more than anything, and the impossibility of it mattered not at all, or only as a note of poignant grace.

Eventually Dwalin realized that, mesmerized as he was, he was mostly watching Nori's mouth and fingers on the flute. He blinked and looked around, saw Dori sharing a pipe with the hobbit and smiling. Dwalin came to his feet. The day had been a very pleasant interlude of several sorts, but he mustn't forget himself. He wasn't on for a watch that night, but they'd best be on the road early, and so he'd best get some sleep.

Dwalin was at his bedroll, taking off his boots, when a sudden shape sat down beside him. It was Bifur, the blade in his head and the white in his beard shining in the low light. He picked up one of Dwalin's hands, and signed upon it: _Come away with me?_ There was a pause while Dwalin tried to make sure he'd parsed that properly -- he'd never used much Iglishmek, and its tactile form the least, though he had in fact felt this particular sentence before. _Shieldbrothers?_ added Bifur, along with a swipe from palm to wrist that was untranslateable but clear in its meaning.

Dwalin chuckled. "Are your brothers going to intimidate me?" he murmured, but meanwhile he moved so that they sat thigh to thigh.

 _Cousins,_ shaped Bifur. _Know better._

Dwalin pushed his feet back into his unlaced boots, closed his fingers around Bifur's, and pulled them both to their feet. Hand in hand, they walked further into the woods, circling around to the back of the field where the ponies grazed. There Bifur stopped and leaned in, deliberately knocking the back of his embedded axe gently against Dwalin's forehead. It was a wounded warrior's perversion of a kiss, and Dwalin sucked in a hard breath before Bifur tipped his head and brought their mouths together.

Bifur's mouth, however mumbling or wordless, was mobile and smoky and hot, teeth tugging gently at Dwalin's lower lip. Dwalin pushed back, trying to use his height as an advantage, and Bifur laughed at him, a liquid sound as gorgeous as the music. Their tongues tangled before Bifur broke away, dragging his face and then his tongue to the vulnerable bare skin beneath Dwalin's beard, and Dwalin shivered and gasped.

Bifur laughed again, very softly, setting his hands to Dwalin's belt, then his trousers, and finally his well-adventured smallclothes. By the time his body was bared to the night air, Dwalin's cock had hardened and pushed halfway out from behind Mahal's apron, and Bifur freed it fully with his mouth. He raised a hand to sign _Suck you?_ against Dwalin's stones. Dwalin could not answer in words either, only a gasp and fingers knotting into Bifur's thick hair.

Bifur sucked Dwalin's cock slow and hard, letting the jewelry strike against his teeth. His hands first gently kneaded Dwalin's stones, then reached behind, delicately exploring his unjeweled forge. All the while he sucked, not so much moving his head as swaying his whole body, half dictating the speed and half allowing Dwalin's hands to direct him. By the time he pressed a finger into the cleft of Dwalin's behind, Dwalin was panting; no sooner was he gently breached than Dwalin came.

Bifur sucked throughout, not releasing Dwalin's cock until it was softening and hypersensitive. _Lie down_ , he signed with his free hand on Dwalin's arse, and the larger dwarf collapsed. Bifur stretched out beside him, then signed on Dwalin's hip, _Can I fuck you now?_

"Oh yeah. Please." Dwalin sat half-up to struggle with his boots again, but Bifur pushed him firmly down, so Dwalin lay looking up at the moon while he was stripped of all his lower garments. There was no more signing as Bifur slicked up his hand and set to teasing Dwalin open, but there were more kisses, slow and lingering and soft. The beautiful music still threaded around them, softened by distance and the sound of horses' hooves in the grass. When Bifur replaced his hand with his cock -- at least as heavily decorated as Dwalin's own, by the wonderful slide and bump and pressure of it -- he moved with the music's rhythm, and though Dwalin's cock did not harden he came again when Bifur came, throbbing deep inside, each of them groaning a harsh, harmonious note.

They lay together in sticky, comfortable companionship for awhile, then pulled themselves apart and cleaned up with night-dewed fallen leaves. "Thank you," Dwalin murmured, bending in for another kiss, and pulled together enough Iglishmek to sign on the unbroken side of Bifur's forehead, _That was lovely. You are lovely._

Bifur laughed again, his beautiful bell-clear laugh, and they knotted their fingers loosely together as they returned to camp. The fire had been banked down for the night watch as they separated and made their ways to their own bedrolls. The only music still playing was the thin, winding voice of a single flute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tactile language is a real thing, btw, historically mostly used by people who are both blind and deaf. There have been many kinds -- Helen Keller was famous for her fingerspelling, and currently a lot of deafblind people use tactile forms of ASL. There's even "Tadoma", which is verbal English made tactile -- by simultaneously touching the lips and the jaw, one can feel the same signals that hearing English users parse via their ears.


	11. Chapter 11

Dwalin woke up in an expansively good mood. He put on his clean clothes, fingers tracing the embroidered rune. Balin was still snoring beside him, and he could just hear Bombur and the hobbit complaining together about the inadequacies of the ingredients for breakfast.

Given that there was cold meat and hot coffee, Dwalin thought the meal surpassed reasonable expectations. There were even fresh berries in the oatmeal, which elevated it to the sublime. "This is a fine mess of food," he said, interrupting. "Compliments to you cooks," he added, which was enough to make Bombur blush and the hobbit's big wide eyes get even wider. Thus nourished and entertained, Dwalin packed up his things and went to ready his pony.

Dori was loading the pack-ponies, easily arranging their burdens while Ori held the beasts. Dwalin immediately thought of their brother. He didn't quite dare approach Nori in his bedroll, where he was probably still catching up on sleep after his watch. He considered packing Nori's things for him, turnabout being fair play, but suspected he lacked the subtlety to get away with it. So instead he found Nori's pony and gently groomed the sensitive creature -- not quite the general issue of the party, but some swifter and more slender breed; he supposed Nori's weight was no great burden. Indeed, Dwalin wanted to take that weight himself.

He put a little braid into the silky mane by the pony's withers, thinking of Nori's complicated hair. Suddenly he remembered that the fruit in the oatmeal had been blackberries, and hurried to the brambles that he had slashed away from the ponies' path the day before. He picked two cuttings, each bearing a heavy cluster of ripe fruit.

He used one to secure the braid on Nori's pony, twisting it in carefully so the thorns were all obscured by the animal's hair. But from the other one he removed each thorn with careful fingernails, and left it poking out of Bifur's saddlebag.

Dori and Ori were eyeing him by then. Dwalin made another quick trip to the brambles, returning with a generous double handful of fruit. "Thought you might want a bite," he said, meeting their eyes.

Ori looked delighted, and Dori allowed Dwalin a small, dazzling smile. "What a kind gift," said Dori, and got a bowl to hold them while they ate. Dwalin ducked his head. He wasn't used to feeling manipulative, but if this was the road to Dori's good opinion, Dwalin was happy enough to take it.

But he was even happier later, seeing Bifur's surprised smile as he tacked up his mount, and then at Nori's raised eyebrow when he found his pony decorated. His pleasure only increased when he saw the juice darkening each of their mouths. And the best moment of all might have been hearing Nori's muffled curse when he finally discovered the thorns.


	12. Chapter 12

Born of the protective earth, dwarves hate getting rained on. Dwalin had withstood it before, in exile and at war, but it reduced the Quest for Erebor to an expensive, uncomfortable folly of his royal cousin. Nobody sang. Nori's purple hood dripped, startling his stupid pony into bolting at random. Then came the muddle with the trolls, which were even worse than rain. Dwalin disliked Tall People not least for being taller than himself, and trolls were even worse than elves in that regard. And after that, there were elves.

Tharkun -- _Mithrandir_ \-- and the hobbit seemed delighted to be in Rivendell. Thorin and Balin at least appreciated Elrond's insight, and Ori hardly left the great library. The rest of the company did their best. The fountains were not as nice as the stream had been for bathing, and music died out in the leaf- and moss-muffled halls. Dwalin tried sparring with Fili, but Balin called them off at once, saying it wasn't polite elf-guest behavior to bash about with axes; apparently Dwalin made the trees nervous.

The feeling was mutual, though Dwalin did not like to admit it. He finished his mending on their first day, and by the end of the second had, with Gloin's help, trimmed all the ponies' feet and fixed their shoes. On the third day Oin beat him five times straight at chess, and Dwalin declined a rematch. He found a secluded patch of lawn and began a round of unarmed exercises, drilling himself like a raw recruit.

He was shirtless and sweating an hour later, and perhaps the distraction of the exercise could excuse his failure to notice Nori, sitting atop the hind end of a sculptured horse. Dwalin pushed himself through his set of lunges, then dropped panting into plank pose. Might as well give the lad something to look at, though Dwalin wondered whether Nori had come to collect on his debt.

Nori remained motionless until Dwalin's wrists had begun to tremble, and Dwalin mocked himself for treating it as a competition and dropped to the ground. Immediately, Nori came to his side and sat down. "Supplies, sir," said Nori, and from under his cloak, he produced a bottle of dark wine.

"Give me that." Dwalin rolled over as Nori pulled the cork and sniffed the contents, then handed it to him with a flourish. Dwalin took a hesitant sip, then drank deeply. He knew he should be drinking water after his exercises, but this was by far the most delicious wine he'd ever tasted, half bright fruit and half dark minerals. "Mahal's sweat and tears," he said, "where did this come from?"

Nori laughed. "My own two hands, as you saw," he said. "But it originated in Dorwin lands, to the east." He took the bottle back for a quaff, then returned it.

"My thanks," said Dwalin, and Nori nodded graciously. "How deep in your debt am I now?" He decided he didn't care, and drank more.

A braided eyebrow arched. "I thought myself repaid with your kind services to my brothers and my mount." 

Dwalin snorted. "You just didn't want another kiss." He looked at Nori's mouth, thinking it was a shame. He reached over with the bottle and placed the neck at Nori's lips. Their eyes locked as Nori's mouth opened, and Dwalin very carefully poured in a little wine. They swallowed at the same time.

"I never said that," Nori protested a moment later. Dwalin pressed the dark bottle to the corner of Nori's mouth again. He opened obediently, and Dwalin gave him another sip. Dwalin's hand shook slightly, and a drop spilled to the corner under Nori's mustache.

Dwalin put down the bottle and leaned in slowly, and neither of them broke the gaze. He stopped with their faces a finger's width apart, heard Nori's breath almost as fast as his own. Then he put out his tongue and delicately caught the wine on its tip, barely touching Nori at all. The taste seemed changed, deeper fruit and older stone. One breath later, Nori brought their mouths together hard.

Dwalin lay back as Nori swarmed upon him, sharp teeth followed by probing tongue, quick hands sliding through Dwalin's loose hair, worn velvet pressing against Dwalin's bare chest. Dwalin's hands stopped halfway to Nori's nape, and he wrapped his arms carefully around Nori's waist, gently at first, then harder and harder as Nori ground into him. When Nori flicked a fingernail across his left pap, Dwalin gasped, hands grasping convulsively through Nori's long vest. This stiff bulk might be another knife, but that flexing muscle must be Nori's arse. It fit sweetly and perfectly in Dwalin's palm, and he bucked.

"What do you want?" Dwalin whispered. "My mouth, my hands? Hammer, anvil, and forge? Nori --!" The thief was craning his neck downwards, nuzzling through the beard to bite and suck on Dwalin's throat. One hand stayed on his chest, one finger at a time tweaking the sensitive pap. The other had already undone Dwalin's buckles and lacings, and strong clever fingers breached Mahal's apron. Dwalin had a disconcerting sensation that each jewel in his cock was weighed and assayed before the whole of it was held. Then both Nori's hands were in Dwalin's opened trousers, and he was stroked and twisted and torqued; he was picked open like a lock. He came much faster than he wanted to.

In the boneless moments after, he tried to open Nori's ties and buckles and failed; the thief's own hands were always in the way. Frustrated, Dwalin wrapped an arm around Nori's waist again and rolled them over together, pinning the smaller dwarf with his hips and a knuckle-dustered hand against a fully clothed shoulder. Their eyes met again, Nori's so wide he almost looked afraid, and Dwalin hesitated. Then Nori gasped "That, yes, your weight, like that." Dwalin pressed down, rocking slowly, hips to hands. Nori's legs came up to wrap around Dwalin's thighs, and Dwalin pushed, feeling himself grow hard again, wanting so very much to fuck Nori into the soft green ground. Nori reached around Dwalin's body and buried his face against his chest, sharp teeth nipping at Dwalin's paps. A few thrusts later his back arched convulsively and he hissed "Yes....!" Dwalin pushed him down, then fell upon him, kissing his mouth again.

Dwalin could have stayed there forever, or at least until they were mutually ready for a good hard fuck. But with one fluid motion, half slide and half some peculiar leverage, Nori was out from beneath him, then sitting up, facing half away and poking at his hair with his hands. Dwalin made an inquiring noise, and Nori turned back to look at him. His expression was still half-wrecked, eyes still too wide, but his voice was perfectly controlled as he said, "That's done very nicely, Master Dwalin. We can call it even, and I'll leave you the Dorwinion. Good day." And then he was on his feet and gone, boots soundless on the lawn.

Dwalin sighed. He'd have to go back to the fountains; he had the wash to do this time. But first he lay back, half-dreaming, and took another draught of the wonderful wine.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gift economy between Free Peoples.

At supper, Dwalin watched the Ri brothers. This was not unusual, and as usual Nori pointedly failed to notice, and Dori politely did the same. Ori appeared genuinely oblivious. The interesting thing that night was Ori's lack of appetite.

Dwalin didn't much like green food either, but he'd lived on worse. Tonight though Ori wasn't just picking at his plate, he was ignoring it outright, fingers spread across his belly. Dori prodded him, and eventually Ori said, "I've eaten already. I was in the library at lunchtime, and we got to talking -- don't look at me like that, Nori, I know what kinds of people you talk to -- about road-markings. They have them in dictionaries, can you imagine? Anyway I showed him some sketches I'd made of ones we've seen on our journey, and he asked me to make them a copy! Which I did, and their paper's very fine -- he gave me some extra sheets, too -- but also while I was working he had some food sent up. A great brown loaf with nuts in it, and cider, which is like ale made of apples. It was lovely! And," he lifted his chin, "I may meet up with them at the library later as well. There's a reading group. They have wine, and sweets."

"You will not be drinking wine with elves," said Dori, grimly chewing a flower-stem. Ori looked away. But the seed was planted in Dwalin's mind, and very early the next morning he was at the library himself.

An elf with inkstained fingers not unlike Ori's met him not two steps in the door. "Master dwarf...?" she -- he? -- it said, dubiously.

"Name's Dwalin," he said, trying to pitch his voice low. "My friend Ori says you lot have dictionaries of symbols? Well," as the elf nodded, "I worked as a crafter in lands of Men, and we marked our work for sale. Nothing secret," he added, "but I thought I'd see what you had on that, might fill in any blank spots..."

The elf's scanty eyebrows lifted up its smooth brow, and it said "We've nothing of the sort, I don't think? -- but we'd assuredly like to, Master Dwalin. Please, do come to a desk...." Dwalin removed his knuckledusters, and set to labor over ink and paper. They did have a book, but it was sadly dated, listing formulas for bronzes and steels that had been surpassed generations ago. Dwalin drew up charts, careful to make them appropriate for purchasers and not apprentices, associating marks with useful features and leaving out any mention of methods. The elf did bring him bread at breakfast time, hot and satisfying, and covered the papers on the table with a cloth to save them from any drops of the strong honey tea. Thus fortified, Dwalin worked past lunch (for which he was brought a dark and mysterious, but filling, stew) adding a section on decorative borders and another on monograms. After thirty pages, his hand cramped terribly, and after some mutual hesitation, the elf (whose name sounded like twittering to Dwalin, who promptly forgot it) massaged it with a cream that smelled like good firewood. 

It had been Dwalin's hope to swap sketching for food, or perhaps even wine, but as his hand tingled and relaxed in (or despite) the elf's long-fingered touch, he knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how he wanted to use it. "Lovely stuff, this," he said, flexing his fingers, watching the elf's gaze linger on his tattoos. "Any chance you could spare a bit?" He rolled his shoulders, so the stiff bit on his left cracked.

The elf swallowed hard. "Certainly, sir," it said hurriedly, and produced a large clay jar wrapped in green cloth. Dwalin put his knuckledusters back on, and they exchanged some pleasantries. The work had, to Dwalin's surprise, actually been pleasant. He was not lying when he said he would consider subject matters and perhaps return again, and meant his thanks as he accepted a volume on Men's horse-shoeing techniques in a place called Rohan. He left the library with the book in his pocket and the jar tucked under one arm, in search of a certain thief with remarkable hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, the library people are more knowledgeable (having just read up!) on what dwarves like to eat than the kitchen staff is. Nobody's trying to be inhospitable, they're just not used to having a dozen Naugrim mouths to feed. But the people who spend time in the libraries know the value of book-research, and that of informants :)


	14. cheat to lose

Nori was with the princes in a wide wooden hall, teaching them to cheat at dice. Dwalin watched as the youngsters rolled and laughed and traded acorn counters back and forth, thinking himself unnoticed until Nori called out, "Care to try your luck, Master Dwalin?"

Fili and Kili at least looked startled, and Kili blushed, though from the size of his pile of he seemed to have the knack of it. Dwalin kept his voice deliberately placid. "I might want in for a roll, but I don't think I've got the nuts."

Nori snickered, Kili's blush deepened, and Fili looked appalled. Privately, Dwalin almost agreed with Fili, but he wasn't being their drillmaster at the moment. Nori waved him over. "We'll take your debt, won't we?" he said. "He'll be good for it, very honorable I'm sure."

Dwalin winked broadly at his discomfited pupils as he sat down, which didn't seem to help. He rolled low, making a display of it, and Fili gave in and laughed. Dwalin smiled at him and shrugged. Fili's roll looked honest, but beat Dwalin's. Kili went for broke and got one die high but spun the other out of bounds. Nori returned it, saying "Less wrist, more eye," and Kili's second attempt scored high as well. Then Nori's turn spun up the same signs as Dwalin's, and following the nominal rules, he passed over half his cache. "Your nuts, good sir," he said, and Kili laughed too.

They played on, and Nori gave up overt instruction. Fili didn't even seem to be trying to cheat; Kili definitely was, and getting better at it. Dwalin continued to roll low, losing to everyone, except when Nori dumped turns on him to keep him in the game. There was a brief whirl where Fili's luck ran high (though as far as Dwalin saw he was still playing fair), and Kili's wrist betrayed him again; Kili was out. Then Nori trumped through the next three rounds. Fili ended up broke, and Dwalin deep in acorn debt.

"Nuts to you, then, Master Nori," he said, and all the young folk laughed. Dwalin liked that. The lads were of age, and it was time for them be at ease around him. He rose and offered Nori his arm, adding, "Shall we look for a likely tree?"

"Plenty of those around," said Nori agreeably, taking it. They nodded a farewell to the princes, who were staring again.

Dwalin had not come prepared to gamble, but he did have a generous dollop of that elf's salve tucked into a scrap of oilcloth. He led Nori outside -- it was not obvious where inside and outside diverged in Rivendell, but Dwalin walked until they'd crossed a stream and hadn't seen anything carved or hung in a quarter-mile or so. He stopped at an oak tree, and peered up at it. "Looks like we've a few months to wait for your acorns," he observed, or pretended to. "Perhaps you'll allow me to satisfy this debt some other way?"

Nori's eyebrows wagged. "It's all kisses with you, eh Dwalin?"

"Not all," he said. "Looked like you might have strained your hand back there, and I've got just the thing for it." He sat down, drawing the smaller dwarf to sit next to him. He took off his knuckledusters and lifted Nori's hand, traced the long fingers past back to the braided-leather gauntlet. Then he flipped Nori's wrist over and began to unbuckle it.

Somewhat to Dwalin's surprise, Nori did not object, as he had when Dwalin had gone for the fastenings of his vest. Encouraged, he pulled the gauntlet free. Nori's shirtsleeve fell loose, his bare hand almost delicate in Dwalin's. Dwalin did have to resist the urge to kiss it, but he took out the fold of oilcloth instead. He took a bit of the cream on his finger -- he remembered the elf had only used a small amount -- and began to rub it in slow circles on Nori's palm.

Nori watched with hooded eyes at first. Dwalin persisted, silently working his way out to the ball of Nori's thumb and the broad muscle at the base of his palm. Dwalin knew his own hands were huge, but he could take two of Nori's wrists in his grip; the notion was pleasing but he set that aside as well. He drew the salve down to the tip of Nori's smallest finger, and felt it curl convulsively inwards. Gently, slowly, he massaged from knuckle out to fingertip, and Nori's hand splayed open in response. When Dwalin looked at his face, Nori's eyes were wide again, and his mouth a little open.

"C'mere." With his other hand, Dwalin turned the smaller dwarf to lean back against him, wrapping his arm over Nori's shoulder to continue his work with the next finger. Again a sudden clutch, again a slow release, and then a stretch. Dwalin could feel the shudder of relaxation rippling up through Nori's shoulders. By the time he'd finished all four, Nori was slumped bonelessly, and groaned softly when Dwalin started on his thumb.

When he'd worked up past Nori's wrist, two barriers presented themselves. For one, there was clearly a knife up that sleeve, and Dwalin did not dare remove it; for another, that loose sleeve was not loose enough to contain both Nori's arm and Dwalin's hand. Before he'd come up with a strategy, though, Nori pulled his arm free -- but only to remove the armor from his other side. Dwalin chuckled, took the hint, and started on Nori's second hand.

Nori's left sleeve contained at least three knives and two smaller, oddly-shaped objects whose purpose Dwalin could not guess. His left hand was less flexible than his right, and there was a double ridge of scars across its back. Nori nestled closer as Dwalin worked, the peaks of his hair coming to rest beneath Dwalin's chin. Dwalin would have liked to push his face into it, but the memory of hairpins kept him back, and he only inhaled the scent of dwarf and hair-oil. He worked steadily at his task: palm, fingers, thumb, wrist. Nori's breath came slow and deep, almost as if he were sleeping, except for the occasional shiver and groan as another knot of tension dissolved beneath the cream.

As he finished with the hand, Dwalin looped his free arm loosely around Nori's waist and took up another daub of the elvish concoction. Greatly daring, he reached in for the vulnerable, hairless space beneath Nori's ear. Nori made a sharp noise at that, and Dwalin pressed steadily, soothingly, as if he were calming Nori's silly pony. When the thief had settled, Dwalin stroked his neck, the firewood scent reminding him of their evenings in campsites. Nori's head lolled, eyes half-closed, a little groan now within each long exhalation. Twilight had fallen and the evening birds begun their song. This time, when Dwalin moved to the fasteners on Nori's vest, the thief flapped one hand but made no move to really stop him. Very gently, and careful not to grasp the fabric too hard, Dwalin opened the vest down to Nori's waist. The jacket beneath parted with it. Dwalin got more cream and rubbed it across Nori's collarbones, pulling forth another shuddering, straining release and sigh. That emboldened him to pull at the ties on Nori's undershirt, exposing his chest.

Nori's torso was narrow, softly furred, and warm in the dim evening air. Dwalin smoothed the cream down his pectorals and across his slender waist, and Nori twisted a little in his arm, pressing back against him. Dwalin made a soothing sound, again as if to an uneasy pony. He had gotten distractingly hard, with Nori so uncharacteristically pliant upon him, but he wanted to see how far he could take that much more than he needed to get off. But after a few long strokes, Dwalin found his fingers circling Nori's paps, and occasionally swiping across one. On the left, his nails caught on something hard -- not a scar, a stone, a jewel? He flicked it and Nori gasped. Dwalin tightened his arm across Nori's waist, then dropped his mouth to the spot beneath Nori's ear. "Good, eh?" he said, nipping at the creamy skin and giving a quarter-twist to the jewel.

Nori only gasped again, but his hands came to grip Dwalin's at his waist, and his back arched. Dwalin huffed with satisfaction, biting down a little harder, and set up a slow alternation between stroking Nori's right pap and tweaking his left. Soon Nori was twisting and moaning, and Dwalin derived some satisfaction from holding him in place, bearing down on that sweet spot of skin. "Aye, you do like that," he murmured, "love that proud little piercing," he pulled it, merciless until Nori keened, "want to be touched and bitten and held down and grabbed," and he dropped his hand to Nori's crotch and squeezed the hardness there. Nori's hands clenched down on his, and he squirmed and wriggled and might have bucked a weaker dwarf away. But Dwalin hung on, his handspan wider than Mahal's apron, until he felt Nori throb beneath his palm.

"There, that's a good lad," Dwalin whispered, then bit Nori lightly for good measure. He was still hard, but somehow already satisfied, satiated on Nori's relaxation and his pleasure, on the triumph of having slipped past Nori's guard. He wondered if this felt anything like whatever joy Nori took in actual theft. "Think I've got you in my debt," he added, "never mind the acorns."

Nori half-nodded, then slid down further, lithe and limp. "Yes..." he whispered, very soft.

Dwalin felt a triumphant glow. "All right," he said. "No acorns. And wine only if you want it. But you'll tell me," he felt wicked, made his voice strict, "what an unmarried lad your age is doing with a jewel there, like you've nursed a dwarrowling of your own."

Nori's eyes shot open, and his teeth showed, glinting in the almost-dark. But after a moment he nodded. "I am proud of it," he said. "And I'll tell you, because you've earned it. But we are going to have that conversation over wine." He came smoothly to his feet, closing his vest, snapping on his vambraces. Dwalin grabbed his knuckledusters, and obediently followed Nori back towards the halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not usually doing chapter titles here (I use them more when I've got the plot worked out better :) but this is from a fabulous song by Jim's Big Ego.
> 
> Also in case previously unclear: dwarf gender is not like human gender, but has been socially cast in that direction in the generation that's lived outside of Erebor. A bit more of those differences are mentioned in this chapter; there'll be more discussion thereof upcoming.
> 
> And -- thanks to all you new readers for being here! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Nori bears a certain jewel upon his breast. WARNING: contains mention of past violence, destruction, and death. Also family love, confiding in people, body jewelry, and more dwarvish biological fiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: contains mention of past trauma, gender- and race-based violence, destruction, and death. IN THIS CHAPTER WE TALK ABOUT STUFF THAT SUCKS. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE CHECK THE TAGS.
> 
> I'm sorry, folks. I'm also apologizing to myself and these sadly abused characters :(
> 
> More sweetness later, I promise. (and there's even some in here if you look.)

They had missed dinner. Nori skirted the balcony where they were usually fed, ran down two narrow flights of stairs, and slipped into a wine cellar. Dwalin hesitated by the doorway, trying not to knock anything over. Nori moved in the dusty darkness with perfect assurance, taking three bottles which promptly vanished inside his vest. Then he led the way to a kind of pantry, where food -- mostly green, unfortunately -- was laid out for the taking. He took a basket from a stack by the door and assembled a meal of of boiled eggs, cold roasted roots, and chunks of honeycomb. Dwalin tried to help carry, but Nori shook his head and headed back outside. There they scaled a narrow tower with inconveniently elf-sized steps, which were fortunately made of stone, so the dwarves made their way up with relative security.

At the top was a battlement, not quite as tall as the surrounding trees, with a clear view in all directions. "Part of their defenses," said Nori. "It's peacetime, so the guard was here at sunset, and won't be back til an hour before dawn." He set down the basket and took out a bottle, leaned up against the crenellated wall. "The guard following us knows we can't get down unseen, so we should have a bit of privacy for awhile."

Dwalin swallowed uncomfortably. He hadn't realized they were being followed at all. It made sense, he had to allow, but in retrospect it was embarrassing. The sense of welcome he'd acquired in the library faded, an older irritation and suspicion rising in its place. Nori opened a bottle and passed it over, and Dwalin took a hefty slug. It was still delicious.

"I don't know how well they can hear," Nori continued calmly. "I'm hoping not well enough to make out this tale from here. I'll keep to Westron anyway, because if we use Khuzdul they'll have reason to be suspicious, and my," he coughed, signed _Iglishmek_ on Dwalin's palm, "isn't up to this anyway." He took the bottle back and tipped it to his mouth. When he handed it to Dwalin again, it felt substantially lighter.

"You don't have to," said Dwalin, half appalled at the thought of eavesdropping elves, and half angry at himself for pressing Nori on what seemed to be a sensitive matter. "None of my business really. I just," he lowered his voice, self-conscious, "That badge of honor wasn't something I expected."

"You want to know or not, guardsman?" Nori drawled. "Like I said, I'm proud of it."

In fact, he did want to. He picked up Nori's hand and signed, _Yes._

Nori snorted. "Then shut up and listen." But first he cracked an egg and peeled it, tossed the shell over the parapet, and ate it. Then he took another long drink of wine. That emptied the bottle, and Nori opened the second one. He did not drink, but leaned back against the wall, a handsbreadth away from Dwalin. "When Smaug came, Dori and I were in Esgaroth. 

"Our Baba had a shop there. He was an ironworker, made fittings for boats and the floating city, and fixed them. The shop was a neat little thing, a boat with a forge in it, can you imagine? He could paddle it anywhere, half his work was custom fit onsite. Dori was out to help, there were anchors to repair that day and they're horribly heavy. I tagged along, I loved Esgaroth, and we were going to do our marketing. Mostly we lived in Erebor of course, with our Si -- my parent and Ori's; Dori's older and his died before I was born. 

"Si was a braidmaker, a real artist, and the best, most loving person ever. He'd laugh himself sick to see someone like you, a grown man with his hair and beard wild as a bear." Dwalin might have made a sound of protest, because Nori held a hand up. "I know it's for mourning, all you noble type do it at least a little. But that was better times, and Si would have laughed. Then he would have given you a cup of tea and made you gorgeous. I think that's where Dori gets it from." His head dropped at the mention of his elder brother, and he drank more wine before continuing. "So. Smaug. Baba's shop was a catamaran on two hulls, with a metal roof and the vaka reinforced with amphibole, because of the heat from the forge. We hid underneath, up to our necks in the water. I thought we were going to drown, but we held on, and the boat didn't sink and we rode out the firestorm.

"Si didn't get out." Nori considered the wine bottle, then broke off a piece of honeycomb and chewed it viciously. With his mouth full he went on: "We waited, hoping for some news. Our boat was still floating, still moveable too. We ferried dwarves around, we took on Men who'd lost their homes. People camped on the deck and we used the forge for cooking, keeping warm. We scavenged burned-out houses for food and fuel. Maybe that was the first time I stole anything? Dori did it too," that last bit harsh. "But we asked and asked, and nobody knew what happened to Si. And there were fewer and fewer dwarves as time passed. People were going to the Iron Hills, or following the King to wherever. We waited and waited. We might have been the last dwarves on the Long Lake.

"Baba had more work than ever. There were so many people homeless, so much needing to be built. And then Ori was born, Baba was already carrying, though I didn't know it at the time." More wine, and Nori tipped his head back, staring up into the sky, black clouds passing across bright stars. "Dori attended the birth, so Baba and Dori both came into milk. Dori had nursed me too, when I was born.

"One day Dori and I were out with the skiff, we'd delivered a load of cleats and bollards for a new dock. I'd jumped to the ladder and was tying us up when I heard voices. There were Men in the shop and they were yelling at Baba. They'd seen Ori nursing, and," Nori choked, sucked down wine as Dwalin reached for him, pushed Dwalin's hands away, "they couldn't leave it. Seeing a bearer feeding his own child, they hated it. They were screaming and I didn't know what to do. Dori pulled me back into the skiff and tied it between the hulls. Then he got out himself and went through the water, got into the boat somehow. I don't know how he didn't drown.

"There was more screaming, and then Dori, his voice was so sweet he sounded like Si, like he was going to fix everyone a cup of tea. Then more shouts, and then it went quiet.

"Dori came and called me, and I moved the skiff. In the shop," his voice went very low, "there was Baba. The Men had cut off his beard with a knife from the workshop, and there was blood all over his face and chest. The Men were all dead, but there wasn't a lot of their blood. They were just... broken. Dori broke them.

"We didn't know anything about healing, and we didn't dare try to find a healer for Baba among Men. Anyway I think his lungs had been punctured. He couldn't talk. He died within the hour, in my arms. Dori put up the sails, he got us away from the city, away from the Men.

"Ori had a little cut across his cheek, but aside from that he was all right. He was so tiny -- not a year old yet, I could hold him in my palm like a kitten. He had the brightest eyes! After Baba died I just held him while Dori sailed our boat away to the swamps, and he heaved the bodies overboard. Even Baba's, without Erebor we couldn't return him to the stone, so we just left him there. We fought about it, me and Dori -- I don't remember who even took which side, because there was nothing else we could do. We cleaned his corpse, we prayed Mahal to forge him anew, we wrapped him in leather aprons and we dumped him in the swamp.

"Ori was so good, he hardly even cried. Dori didn't either. Me, I was crying enough for all of us. I remember I was angry at Dori for not stripping the Men's corpses, not taking whatever they had. I handed Ori over to him to nurse, and I put on a float-vest and went in the water and took money and weapons and such off them. Maybe that was the first time I stole anything, does it count more than looting, guardsman?" He didn't wait for an answer. "We ended up back near Erebor with the boat. The dragon was still moving inside, we could hear him talking, and the mountain cracked as he broke through the halls. There was nobody alive, and we didn't try to loot the dead. We took off walking, west of the Mountain, away from Esgaroth and Dale.

"Dori kept us alive, and I don't know how. He nursed Ori and kept me fed too. Men lived here and there between Mirkwood and the Ered Mithrin, we went from farms to towns to wilds to farms. For awhile we had coin from Esgaroth, but people were very suspicious of us, and we had to keep Ori hidden.

"When winter came, we were in a settlement of Men called Witherton. Dori got work cutting and hauling firewood. We rented a room -- more like a stall, in the back of the stable -- at the inn. We couldn't have our own fire because the building was wooden, so it was very cold. And Ori had to stay with me, because Dori didn't dare carry him, in case the Men found out he was nursing and did him like they did our Baba.

"Ori cried a lot then, and I did too. I didn't have anything to do, I was too young and small to get work, and I didn't have any skills. At night when Dori could be with Ori I'd go walking. I started stealing in earnest then, food mostly, because our coin went for our shelter and I was always hungry. And I was angry and I prayed a lot --" he made a hiccuping sort of laugh, took another slug of wine, "-- that is I yelled at Mahal, in my mind. And he answered me. One night I came home late, but with a very good meal inside me. I'd stolen a Man's roast goose, the whole thing, right from her oven while she was out of the kitchen. I ate half of it not ten yards from her back door, and brought the rest home for Dori. I went to sleep then, and when I woke up Ori was on my chest, and my paps had swollen, and I started nursing him. It hurt like knives at first -- he had no teeth yet but he sucked hard. Then after I got used to it I loved it, it felt amazing and it was amazing for me to be useful. So that was our miracle.

"After that it was almost easy. I stole some dresses and I could walk about with Ori, I was too young to have a beard yet anyway, and nobody bothered us. I don't know if those Men knew what a dwarf was, or if they thought our family was just small Men. When spring came we moved on. It went like that for a long time. We'd wander, Dori would get work and we'd have some coin, and I'd steal and wear dresses and play the short, feeble-minded mother toting the baby around. Did you know that Men call Men who are exceptionally short _dwarfs_ , and expect them to be feeble-minded as well? Anyway, eventually we fetched up in Thorin's Halls, where we could live like dwarves again."

Nori stood up, stretching. "Two months after we got there, Ori weaned himself. I stole the gold and the topaz, for his beautiful soft hair, his bright brown eyes. Dori had the jewelry made -- he paid coin for that. I did Dori's piercing and he did mine, and I've worn it ever since. Ori was five years old by then, and I was twenty-five."

"Twenty-five?!" Somehow Dwalin had kept silent until then, but the number roared out of him. That was madness. A twenty-five-year-old dwarf was a child. Twenty-five was your first lesson in cold forging with a half-sized hammer and soft aluminum. Twenty-five was starting to train with a wooden sword, coming to sit at the table when your parents had dinner guests, and knowing all your cirth by heart. It wasn't, it shouldn't be, the end of years of wandering in the wilderness, and it was a violation of all that was sweet and bright about childhood for it to be weaning the brother you nursed.

Nori just nodded, and said evenly, "You can ask Dori, if you won't take a thief's word. Or Oin, he knew our family in Erebor." But he was moving restlessly now, pacing back and forth beside the parapet. The moon had risen, and his hair gleamed like the last embers of a fire going out. "I'm going to puke now," he added conversationally, and leaned out through a crenellation and loudly disposed of a good deal of Dorwinion wine.

Dwalin was beside him in an instant, holding Nori's shoulders as he retched and shook. He murmured meaningless gentling sounds until Nori finished and fell back, then cleaned his face with a hand-towel from Rivendell's hot baths. It wasn't until Nori reached up and touched his tears that Dwalin realized he'd been crying.

"Stop that," said Nori thickly. "It was a long time ago. Anyway you asked."

Dwalin actually sobbed aloud at that, but he snapped back, "I should be crying. You should be too. Everybody should. Mahal wept, Nori, you were twenty-five!"

"So what? Ori was an infant. We both grew up. We're going back to Erebor, never mind the dragon; my little brother will get to see where he came from. And if the king and the wizard and the hobbit do as they say, my big brother will never have to haul firewood and sleep in the cold again."

"And you won't have to steal," said Dwalin. Nori laughed.

"Don't push it, guardsman."

Dwalin laughed too, and on the strength of it he reached over and took Nori in his arms. Nori allowed it, his body still heavy with drink. "Why did you tell me?" Dwalin asked, tracing a finger beneath Nori's mouth, that instrument of sharp smiles and long kisses and horrifying history. "I don't know you well yet, Master Nori, but I don't think you've often told that tale."

"I haven't," Nori allowed, and then was silent awhile. He moved a little, and Dwalin would have let him up, but Nori turned his head and briefly touched Dwalin's finger with his lips. Then he said, "It was how I felt when you asked. After you touched me, my hands and all. I hadn't felt like that since, well, when I was very young, anyway." He looked away. "Probably not the story you wanted. I could have invented something, a secret lover, baby-farming. Might have been nicer for you. Which way's our debt now, anyway?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'd rather have the truth." said Dwalin. But Erebor was no longer a quest in a dream to him, nor a folly he indulged for Thorin's sake. He wanted to take the mountain to give it back to the brothers Ri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this, thanks for toughing through it with Nori, Dwalin, and me. <3
> 
> Biological note: all dwarves are able to lactate. Normally this process begins with being present at a birth, so births are attended by the newborn's closest kin. Dwarves are born very premature by human standards, which contributes to their long childhoods; on the other hand pregnancy and delivery are generally easy and untroubled processes, so there is no profession of dwarvish midwifery.
> 
> Nori was just barely starting to physically mature in his twenties -- think of a human girl who might start to develop breasts around age ten. Although Nori was not present at Ori's birth, and if he were he would have been insufficiently mature to produce milk, extended exposure to Ori's cries of hunger provoked Nori to lactate as soon as his body was capable. Mahal built in backup strategies for dwarrowlings to survive.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enough soul-baring. everybody back to your brothers now.

Dwalin didn't know how to tell time by stars and moon, but his body told him it was well into second watch by the time Nori passed out. He had persuaded the drunken dwarf to eat some roasted roots and finished off the honeycomb himself. Once Nori started to draw out the third bottle of wine, but Dwalin pushed it firmly back into the thief's vest. Too much alcohol was already enough.

He didn't want to be on top of the tower when the elf-guard arrived before dawn, nor did he want their presumed invisible escort to put in an appearance. So once Nori had slumped into unconsciousness, Dwalin picked him up -- he was surprisingly little burden -- and descended too-steep tower staircase. If indeed they had an elven guard, it had the discretion, or perhaps the good sense, to stay out of Dwalin's way. He got lost for some time (and felt lucky Nori wasn't awake to mock him), but eventually found the hallway where the dwarves had been given rooms.

Dori advanced on him as soon as he set foot into the corridor. "Ah, there's my little brother," he said flatly. "Being a gentleman again, I suppose?"

Dwalin steeled himself and did not flinch. "He had some Elvish wine," he said. "Stuff's a sucker punch." In the gentle glow of elf-lights, Nori's face looked slack and almost innocent, and Dwalin was relieved to see that he'd cleaned up thoroughly.

"It's not really that bad," said another voice, as Ori approached from the opposite end of the hall, pink-cheeked and sleepy-looking and carrying a book. He peered at Nori and shrugged. "He just overdoes things sometimes. Thank you for bringing him back, Mister Dwalin."

Dori snorted, lifting Nori easily from Dwalin's arms. The red-haired dwarf made a murmur of protest, and Dori shushed him. "Yes, thank you, guardsman," he said coolly.

"I'm not the guard here," said Dwalin irritably, realizing as he did so that he was still full of Dorwinion himself. "They have elves for that. I'm the company's master at arms and defense."

"Thank you anyway," said Dori, turning away. Ori rolled his eyes and shrugged apologetically. At the Ri brothers' chamber, Dwalin reached ahead and pulled the curtain back from the door. There were elf-lights in there too, and he could see neat stacks of the brothers' belongings, their mattresses pulled from the tall beds and pushed together on the floor. Dori set Nori gently upon them, and he and Ori began to remove their brother's boots. "Is there something more we can do for you, Dwalin?" Dori asked, without turning around.

Dwalin hesitated, then blurted, "Thank you for taking care of him. That's all. Thanks. Good night," and he turned and fled back to his own room and his own brother.

Their room was dark, lights shrouded, a solid bulk of dwarf asleep on a mattress on the floor. Every other night Dwalin had stubbornly climbed into an elf-high bedframe, but tonight he simply stripped and crawled under the silky coverings behind Balin. He put his arms around his brother, touching his own nursing-token on Balin's chest (mithril and jet, well over a century old) and burying his face in familiar, fluffy silver hair. Balin huffed without waking, putting his hands over Dwalin's, and they slept curled together until well after dawn.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember the rest of the Company? Oh yeah, them.

Dwalin awoke when his brother pushed a mug of hot tea into his hand. "Hey, sleepyhead, drink up," said Balin. "It's almost noon."

Dwalin sat up obediently. Elvish tableware was a generously good fit for his oversized hands, and the warm solid mug was almost compensation for the fact that it contained tea and not coffee, not to mention being Elvish. At least there was honey in it. He was terribly thirsty, and downed half of it in one go. Then he put it down and flopped back onto the mattress. "I don't want to get up."

"Why not?" asked Balin, in his most reasonable voice. But knowing his brother, he went on, "Nori was at breakfast. He brought a basket of boiled eggs, which made him very popular, but he was looking for you. Also, I suggest you find Thorin and beat him till he folds. Elrond's being helpful and polite, and it's almost killing our king."

"What about Dori?" Dwalin couldn't help but ask.

Balin sighed. "I'm starting to think he never smiles, except as a bit of manners, like saying please or thank you." Dwalin sat up and knocked their foreheads together.

"Nori told me about their time after Smaug. If I was Dori I'd have forgotten happiness, too." He hesitated -- it was probably a terrible idea, but Balin could decide that better than Dwalin could himself. "I've got this cream," he said, "from an elf actually, but it's amazing stuff. I gave Nori a bit yesterday, rubbed down his fingers, it seemed to relax him. Think you could find a way to rub Dori's shoulders? He's been moving all our heaviest things, he's strong but he'll be stiff."

Balin chuckled. "Stiff, eh?" and Dwalin laughed too. "All right, give me some of this magic stuff, and I'll see what I can do. Can't hurt to offer, and I can be as polite as himself if I try." So Dwalin got up and showed Balin the jar -- a scrap of oilcloth wouldn't do for Dori, but Balin found a glass container that was almost empty of hair-oil, and the brothers used the last of that on one another. Balin found a scrap of silver-dyed leather to tie around it, and it was deemed a fit presentation to offer Dori a service.

They went to the balcony for lunch. Perhaps the elves had taken a hint, because there were eggs prepared several ways on the table -- boiled, soft-scrambled with herbs, and even tiny speckled eggs cracked raw into dainty crystal cups. Dwalin looked askance upon those last until he noticed that Dori and Oin had each accumulated quite a stack of empty cups, whereupon he huffed at himself and decided to try one. The taste was buttery, the texture slippery and vaguely erotic. Dwalin swallowed hard enough to cough, then had three more.

Nori might theoretically have been looking for him, but in fact he was sitting between the princes, building delicately improbable stacks and structures with the boiled eggs. Most never worked at all, but once in awhile a balance would last for a few breathtaking moments before collapsing, and all of them would laugh. At one point Kili obtained a sort of pyramid with four that remained stable for nearly half a minute, and when it finally fell apart the other two clapped him soundly about the shoulders, and Nori passed Kili a coin. Dwalin was amused and impressed, but it also made him feel clumsy and old, and he turned to look for Thorin instead.

The King did look like he could use a beating. His lips were tense and his clothing embroidered and immaculate, and he was picking at a plate of green food. On impulse, Dwalin looked around for Bifur. The warrior was with his cousins. Bombur looked deeply sullen, and Bofur and Bifur were braiding his fabulous red beard. A few ideas struck Dwalin at once, but for the moment he just went and tapped Bifur on the shoulder. "Hey, shield-brother," he said, "I think our king could use a few hard rounds against his best. Would you join me?"

Bofur grinned and Bombur sulked harder, but Bifur knotted off his handwork and came to his feet. He muttered something incomprehensible, but his empty-handed gesture was unmistakeable: he didn't have his spear. "No worries," said Dwalin, "the elves get twitchy around our blades anyway. We'll fight openhanded." And with that he turned to Thorin, and Bifur came with him.

Thorin pushed his plate away as they approached, lips thinning further. "Get up," said Dwalin without preamble. "You're spending too much time with tree-shaggers." (He did switch to Khuzdul for that appellation.) "You are a king-at-arms, and you need to keep a keen edge. Go put on some real clothes and meet me and Bifur on the lawn below." He turned and strode away without waiting for an answer, leaving Bifur to follow him.

 _Thus you speak to the king?_ signed Bifur, as soon as he'd caught up and taken Dwalin's hand.

"Only sometimes," said Dwalin, smiling slightly. And he signed back carefully, _You think about touching him. If you want. After we fight._

Bifur's fingers clenched, and he leaned over to knock his orc-blade against Dwalin's forehead. _Jest?_

_No. I'll try. You too?_

Bifur clenched again, but signed clearly enough: _Yes._

"Good." They had reached the lawn -- followed, he noticed, by all four of the youngsters. Dwalin sighed. Thorin did not enjoy putting on a show the way he did himself, though this was probably not the place for such things anyway. He was counting on Bifur's Iglishmek more than anything. But he prepared himself meticulously, putting aside his boots, warg-skin and knife, and stripping down to his trousers; this would be barehanded practice only, in nominal deference to Elvish sensibilities. Bifur did the same, and they matched each other in warmups, pushing one another deeper into stretches. They refrained from further communication, and before long Thorin appeared on the field.

The king was barefoot and shirtless as well, wearing only plain dark trousers, held up by only knotted leather without even a buckle. Dwalin nodded his approval. Thorin ran through an abbreviated warmup and nodded, and Dwalin and Bifur rushed him.

Thorin ducked Dwalin cleanly, then tossed Bifur lightly aside. Dwalin came back at once, leaping on Thorin from behind, and Thorin dove backwards and pushed Dwalin's legs so that the larger dwarf tumbled. Bifur came in again, feinting a high strike, and when Thorin reached to block it he drove for Thorin's knees and knocked him down. Bifur crawled forward to pin him there, and Dwalin clearly saw his fingers signing as they passed across Thorin's chest.

Thorin flushed red and struggled mightily, but Bifur had the advantage. He held the king down securely until Dwalin clapped, and then they nodded and parted. It was Bifur's turn next, and he threw Thorin's charge hard aside but was promptly flattened by Dwalin. For a moment they panted, chest to chest, and Dwalin refrained from kissing him, instead rearing back and levering Bifur's arms up for a secure hold. Thorin waited a few beats too long to clap them out, but Dwalin did not mind.

Dwalin was last, and best, and he knew it. He tossed Bifur's first hard charge, and though Thorin's kick surprised him he used it to tumble the king on his arse. Bifur's second attack was to his head, and might have worked if Dwalin had been just a little shorter. As it was he turned it to one shoulder, catching Bifur's fist against himself and hauling the smaller dwarf bodily around. Bifur surprised him again by pushing into the turn, and Dwalin was knocked backwards, where Thorin was waiting to pull him down to the ground. They almost got him pinned, both working frantically, but were not quite coordinated enough to keep Dwalin from shoving himself back to his feet. Then he dove on top of Thorin, flattening him. Bifur silently counted three and clapped before Dwalin let him up.

They were all panting, and all the youngsters were wide-eyed. Fili had taken two steps away from that group, almost as if to give himself some privacy. Nori wore his sharp grin, while Ori and Kili were open-mouthed. Dwalin smiled and waved cheerfully to them all, and then, daring himself, he winked. Nori winked back.

Meanwhile Bifur had helped Thorin to his feet. The king was grass-stained and breathing hard, and Dwalin saw Bifur's fingers moving across his back. "You're right I needed that," said Thorin, breathlessly. "But I also need to meet with Elrond again soon, and I'd better get cleaned up. Thank you for the practice, my friends."

Bifur was grinning, and Dwalin could almost see his laughter ringing around him. "Sure, let's go to the baths. Wouldn't want to offend an elf with any sweat," he said. He linked arms with his comrades, and let Thorin lead the way back to his private rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda can't believe this is the first fic here tagged dwalin/bifur/thorin. what the heck have people been doing all these years??
> 
> anyway next chapter will pursue them into privacy, because clearly this needs to be written out in smutful detail.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threeway smut, ahoy! :)

As the bath-curtain swung shut, Dwalin lifted Thorin off his feet. He beckoned to Bifur, who stepped forward and undid the knotted leather, tugged the king's plain pants and his smallclothes from his hips. Then Dwalin lay Thorin on his back in the bath.

It wasn't so much a tub as an oval depression in the floor, marked by plumbing-taps and a drain, and surrounded by thick layers of toweling. Dwalin didn't want to think about elves washing in it; better to acknowledge that it was an excellent size and shape for three sturdy, sweaty dwarvish warriors. Bifur was already in it as well, standing in front of Thorin, staring down. He was frowning slightly, and the orc-blade glistened at its base with sweat. _King, I bested you,_ he signed to Thorin. _Kneel for me._

Thorin complied. His back was to Dwalin, his hair tangled with grass, finger-bruises already rising on his shoulders. Bifur gestured again, languageless and abrupt, and Thorin set to unlacing him. Bifur's trousers had an odd, layered design without separate smallclothes, and by the time Thorin had them open Bifur's cock was fully engorged, Mahal's apron retracted behind it. Dwalin sat back on his heels, admiring -- Bifur was in fact more bejeweled than himself, with cabochons of black onyx and snowflake obsidian, a smattering of bright-red faceted gems, and one strange, unpolished angular stone. Thorin got Bifur's pants entirely unwrapped and set them aside, and Bifur took Thorin's head between his hands, cradling it as Thorin nuzzled forwards into his stones. Bifur's eyes half-closed, and he shot Dwalin a dazzled, brilliant smile.

Dwalin returned it, fumbling open the water flow -- he got it just the cool side of body temperature -- before shucking his own clothes and coming to kneel behind his king. There were little recesses around the bath's edge, each containing a different substance, and Dwalin found something that might be oil and salt, and set to untangling Thorin's hair. He saw Bifur sign on Thorin's cheek: _suck me_. But as the king's mouth closed around the warrior, it was Dwalin's hands that set the rhythm between them, his fingers busy in Thorin's hair, his eyes locked on Bifur's face. Dwalin worked two tasks in opposition, Thorin's tangles against Bifur's pleasure. When the hair was soft and loose, he pushed the second, and was soon rewarded with Bifur's deep, stuttering word: "Malkhuh..."

As Bifur sank to his own knees to kiss Thorin, Dwalin found something soapier and scrubbed the king's back, moving gently across his bruises. When he reached Thorin's arse the king spread his knees and whined, and Dwalin gently reached beneath to wash anvil, forge, and finally hardened hammer. At the last Thorin's hand clamped hard around his own, but Dwalin allowed only one stroke before turning him, arranging him so he leaned back against Bifur's chest, legs parted and cock high. Then he moved back to wash Thorin's feet, scrubbing the dirt from his soles and beneath his nails. Thorin's toes curled and he whimpered, and would have touched himself again, but Bifur held his arms back. Dwalin nodded at Bifur gravely, and scowled at Thorin. He wanted to fuck him, but that would take considerable time, and while Dwalin might derive vicious pleasure from making Elrond wait he knew Thorin would suffer for it. So when he judged Thorin clean enough entirely, he bent and took him in his mouth. Bifur shifted behind and Thorin twisted, mewling, thrusting wildly in all directions. The two warriors held him hard, raising more finger-marks as Thorin thrashed his way to spending in Dwalin's throat, then cradling him between them as he relaxed.

"Oh my men, my fine strong men, my shield-brothers..." Thorin murmured, combing his fingers through their pelts. Then his eyes slowly widened, and his face became sober. "I've got to get back to Elrond," he said. "A king to a high lord. Best manners. Dignity."

"That's right," said Dwalin. "A king. Whose first concern is for his own people."

Bifur gestured broadly, hands on Thorin's chest. _Go with our devotion in your heart and throat. We await with the taste of you in our mouths._ Thorin groaned and turned, reaching up, and the three kissed together, open-mouthed. Then Dwalin stood up, wrapped Thorin in a towel and carried him into the dressing-room, leaving Bifur to deal with the drain and taps.

Thorin didn't move while Dwalin rummaged through his things, and hardly any more while the larger dwarf put him into formal clothes. Deep blue for the House of Durin, and of course for his eyes; his fur capelet so the elf would know he was dealing with a king who killed. Bifur came in, propped Thorin up, and took a comb to his hair.

It didn't take long to array Thorin in appropriate majesty, but Dwalin raised a brow at the braid Bifur had put in at Thorin's temple. It wasn't one thought of for kings, more often on very young gang members in rough places. It had no direct translation into language, but the row of knots seemed harsh and clear: CLAIMED AS OURS / DARE NOT OFFEND.

Dwalin stared, wondering if Thorin realized, if Elrond or Tharkûn would; certainly all their party would notice (and Nori not last). Bifur's grin was toothy and hard, and Dwalin realized simultaneously that Thorin would like it, and that he himself would never have dared. He pulled his king to his feet. "Get along," he said roughly. "Go to the elves and get what you can from them. We'll be waiting for you." They knocked foreheads and clasped arms, almost formally. Then Bifur embraced Thorin and swept the axe against his head. Thorin tugged at Bifur's braided beard like a youngster, and Bifur kissed him gently before letting him go. He swept out of the chamber with a regal stride.

Dwalin realized he was still naked when Bifur turned to him. _Slick in there?_ Bifur asked, gesturing to the bath. _Would you fuck me?_ And Dwalin's smile was wide and wolfish as he realized he could take all the time he liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Dwarvish jewelry can be inset directly into the skin, as minerals run together in the earth. Nursing-tokens are on piercings so they can be removed for more easily nursing later children (always hoped-for though rarely enough occurring); genital ornaments (which have signifiers not expounded upon here, maybe later) are usually intended to be permanent.
> 
> In other biology-and-linguistics, let me be clear that there are several distinct structures between Mahal's apron and the Dwarvish behind. The translations from Khuzdul are, from front to back, hammer, forge, and anvil. Commonly-spoken Khuzdul does not have a particular term for the scrotal sac or its content structures; there are some specific medical terms, or sometimes one hears "hammer-weights" or "jewel-bag". Dwarves who speak Westron usually use the Westron term, "stones"; Khuzdul "hammer" is sometimes translated literally into Westron, but more often glossed as "cock". (Like JRRT, I am usually-but-not-always translating from Westron into English in my story ;)
> 
> I am sad to say that much Khuzdul vocabulary I'd like to be using is unattested. "Neo-Khuzdul" for "king" seems to offer only a Hebrew stem and nothing at all for possessives, so I inflected that like Hebrew as well. Hello folk process, you are in me :) Iglishmek is quite different from any of the above languages, but since I am using it substantially (that is, sententially) I must be translating freely.
> 
> Smutwise, I realize I'm cutting off a bit here, but I did get in the new tag, and I've got other things I'm supposed to be doing. Feel free to comment as to whether you want to read more of the Dwalin/Bifur scene now that Thorin's gone off to be kingly, or if you'd just as soon I moved along with more of the story.
> 
> Speaking of which -- THANKS AND THANKS to everyone for all the awesome comments and the kudos and just reading alla this! Y'all make this writing such a joy <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin and Bifur Get Laid.

One of the recesses by the bath did contain something Dwalin thought could pass for slick, and he decided he'd rather use (or abuse) the elves' hospitality than dig around in Thorin's things. He opened the taps again too, this time with warmer water. Bifur was right behind him, fingers combing through Dwalin's thick hair.

Once he was satisfied with the arrangements, Dwalin reached back, clasped Bifur's hand to his nape, and ducked a step backwards under his arm. Bowing forwards, he dropped Bifur to his knees. He kept hold of the hand, moving it to the small of Bifur's back, then knelt beside him. He bit once, hard, at Bifur's hip, and was rewarded with a rumble of sounds that were not quite Khuzdul. Then he pushed Bifur's knees apart and positioned himself behind. There was a long, ragged scar at the top of Bifur's thigh, breaking through the hair there, and Dwalin nuzzled along it, fascinated by the ropy texture. Then he set his chin upon the cleft of Bifur's arse, and slowly dragged his face down it. He knew his short beard prickled, but when Bifur tried to rear back Dwalin's hold kept him firmly in place. Bifur ground out another series of syllables, and Dwalin heard himself answering with similar nonsense as he pressed his face forward, seeking Bifur's entrance with his tongue.

At the first lick Bifur's voice rose to a near-scream, and Dwalin's dropped to a dark chuckle. He twisted Bifur's wrist until the other dwarf fell forwards, burying his face in his forearm. This tipped his arse up invitingly, and Dwalin buried his own face in it. Bifur was damp with bathwater, tasting only faintly of exertion. Dwalin nuzzled and licked until Bifur had quieted into ragged panting, punctuated by groans when Dwalin pushed his tongue out to probe. The sounds and the taste both made Dwalin impatient, and he reached for the slick (what was it intended for?) and used his smallest finger to apply a generous spread.

Dwalin truly liked being large, except at times like these, when he found his own size exasperating. He wanted to plunge into Bifur _now_. If he could have prepared Bifur while having his cock worked that might have been acceptable, but Thorin was lost to diplomacy and his own hands were busy. He schooled himself to patience, taking his pleasure empathically as Bifur rocked between the hand in his cleft and the one restraining him at his back. He stroked Bifur's anvil from horn to heel, lingering briefly at the hole each time, until Bifur responded to that pause with a whine. Then Dwalin loosened his hold to allow Bifur to fuck himself back onto Dwalin's finger. Mahal had made him tight, but Bifur had asked to be fucked and was presumably aware of what he was in for; they'd just have to take the time.

So it was the smallest finger, and slow going, until Bifur gave a long, shuddering sigh. He was suddenly so much more openly relaxed that Dwalin wondered if he'd come, and slid gently out and down to investigate. But Bifur was hard as ever, jewels standing out high from his hammer. An unintelligible stream of sounds came from his mouth, and he tipped his hips up imploringly higher. Dwalin grinned and moved into him again, testing fingers until settling to driving in with his thumb. He was muttering by then himself: "Well done, so good, getting so ready for my cock, Bifur? You like my hands, I know you do, feel that --" as Bifur pushed back again, hips grinding into Dwalin's palm "-- my hands, then my hammer, giving you as much as you can take, all my jewels, my hands on your cock while I fuck you...." The stream of words made Dwalin even more eager, but seemed to soothe Bifur, his opening steadily slackening until it allowed two of Dwalin's fingers together. A few moments later it was three, and then Bifur said one word in clear, flawless Westron: "Fuck!"

Dwalin swarmed upon him, thrusting first along Bifur's cleft as he reached for more slick, then guiding his cock so carefully, so slow. But Bifur rocked back upon him hard, still tight, and Dwalin gasped. He dropped the wrist-lock to reach for Bifur's cock, dragging his fingers across the jewelry (he remembered Nori's hands on his ornaments, involuntarily bucked) before taking it in his still-slippery grip. He schooled himself to hold almost still, to let Bifur set the pace and range, moving between Dwalin's heavy hammer and his enormous hand. Bifur was nearly vibrating, and Dwalin groaned, trying to keep himself under control. When Bifur came, pulsing in Dwalin's hand, he convulsed around Dwalin's cock and then slumped forward, hips tipping up again, hole more welcoming than ever -- and Dwalin came into that welcome, surging forward and crying out, before collapsing on Bifur's back.

They lay locked together, both softening as the soothing water poured into the bath and drained out again. Eventually Bifur tapped on Dwalin's arm, and Dwalin moved off. He knew he was heavy, and thought perhaps another time they could end with Bifur on top. He sat up, drawing Bifur to his chest. Reaching for the soapy stuff, he began to gently wash him.

Eventually Bifur turned around and began to wash Dwalin in return. It felt shockingly good (he flashed back to washing himself in the stream, with Nori watching). Bifur signed on his belly _Thank you. So wonderful._

Dwalin hugged him close, slippery with soap. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured. "You're amazing. Thank you for Thorin, too."

The old warrior chuckled shortly. _Fought alongside you both before,_ he signed. Then, slower, _Orcs' war. Azanulbizar._

They clung together hard after that. Then Bifur pulled back, his eyes bright with unshed tears. _We are the ones who remain,_ he signed. _We are those who go on to the next battle._

"I'm glad you're here," whispered Dwalin again. And they washed each other, and then lay curled together in the warm and shallow water, until they heard Thorin's step returning to his rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Various aspects of wrestling and holds lifted from Aikido and my personal perversions thereof :)
> 
> In my head, Bifur's age and considerable experience has allowed him to educate himself in muscle control and relaxation rather beyond the powers of Men.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin. Nori. Oh yeah, those guys.

Thorin was vexed, which was typical when it came to elves. Elrond thought the map of Erebor might contain hidden runes, "moon-letters" which would be visible only during the light of a moon similar to the one under which they had been written. This meant that Thorin needed to be up at various hours, with Elrond, looking at the map, every night for as long as a month, or maybe even a year. He had climbed up into the elf-high bed with his boots on and put a pillow over his head, and Balin was patting his arm and explaining this to Dwalin and Bifur.

"Elves make everything stupidly complicated," muttered Dwalin, but Thorin emitted a muffled groan.

"Not elves," he said, "dwarves. Ancient dwarves with silver pens. Dwarves exactly like my grandfather."

Dwalin remembered Thror as frighteningly pretentious and quite mad, but did not want to say so. He made soothing noises and drew Bifur away. "Guess we're stuck here," he said gloomily, when they had reached the hall. "At least they're feeding us eggs now." Bifur shot him an unsympathetic look, and Dwalin remembered that Bifur seemed to relish the green food and felt bad for complaining.

 _At least they're feeding us._ And Dwalin felt even worse, remembering the genuinely hungry times, and that Bifur's family did not seem wealthy even now. How had Bombur ever managed to get fat? He sighed and nodded, and when Bifur turned toward the room he shared with his cousins, Dwalin headed for the balcony to see whether it might be time for dinner yet.

It had begun to rain, and although this didn't seem to bother the elves, some canopies had been put up to protect Dwarvish sensibilities. Dwalin tried not to think about what would happen if the moon-letter night happened to be overcast. The elves moved about with platters, letting the food get wet and twittering in their own language. Among them was the hobbit, twittering right along. Perhaps that accounted for the roast nuts and plum tarts, or maybe the library had gotten through to the kitchen staff. Dwalin collected an assortment and ducked back into the hallway to eat.

He was nearly run over by the princes, who could not be kept from any food for very long. Nori was not far behind them but stopped, eyeing Dwalin speculatively. Dwalin returned his gaze, and finally asked, "Still got that bottle of Dorwinion?"

"You going to beat me up for it?" asked Nori, and Dwalin grinned.

"Thought we weren't keeping track of our debts anymore," he said. Fili and Kili came back carrying dishes, and Dwalin looked them over. "Kili, you need to eat more. When you've finished what you've got, eggs." Kili nodded with a whole plum tart in his mouth. Nori snagged a tart from Fili's plate, and Dwalin managed not to say anything like "Nori, don't steal from your companion." Instead he stood up, and said, "Well, lads, I'm off to find someplace a bit more sheltered for a pipe. Fili, we'll have a drill after breakfast tomorrow, rain or shine. Nori," and Dwalin nodded, smiling again in what he hoped was a friendly, inviting way, and wandered off to find a spot to smoke. He figured the thief could find him if he chose.

He was not disappointed. Halfway through the second bowl, Nori appeared in the secluded niche Dwalin had found, with a good stone overhang and a view across the deep valley where lightning flashed through the rain. Dwalin moved to make room and offered up his pipe.

Nori didn't take it. He pulled the wine bottle from inside his vest and offered that instead, and Dwalin accepted it with his other hand. "Not like it matters here," said Nori. "The elves don't even use coinage, did you know? They might be sad to find out their best wine's disappeared down our Naugrim gullets, but they won't object." He huffed. "Stupid place to be a thief."

"I wouldn't have found the wine-cellar myself," said Dwalin, but he put down the bottle and tugged at Nori's gauntlet, thinking of the thin wrist within. "Sit down. Do the elves have pipeweed?"

Nori resisted a moment, then knelt. "No." He took the pipe and sucked in, puffed out a ring. "Well, a tiny bit, in the infirmary. Not worth touching. The hobbit's was better."

Dwalin took his pipe back and smoked, considering. He would not have thought to buy the hand-salve. He would not have known about it at all, except for the labor of his own hands. "Elves are tricky," he said at last. "Can't steal from them, can't properly trade, either. But we're stuck here awhile," he explained about the moon-letters, "might as well get what we can in the time." He puffed again; he'd never gotten the knack of smoke-rings. "Maybe even give a little, too," he added reluctantly. Nori might be all right, but he wouldn't be indebted to an elf.

"Dori says I'm to thank you for bringing me home last night," said Nori abruptly. "Ori pushed him into it. Imagine that."

Dwalin half-smiled. "Are you thankful?" He passed over the pipe again.

"....not sure." Nori blew a smoke-ring, another one, then let a line of smoke escape his mouth slow and thin. "I'm used to sleeping off my excesses alone. I don't like bothering my brothers that way. But I'm not used to...." he took another puff, "...drinking with a guardsman, either." 

He tried to hand the pipe back, but Dwalin caught Nori's fingers instead, stroking where they curled around the stem. "I don't mind if you call me that," he said softly, "though I didn't like when Dori did. But I'm not going to arrest you for anything. I'll drink with you and smoke with you, and I'd defend you with my life." He looked down at their hands. "I'll listen to you again, if you want me to. Your story was hard, but it was brave, and I'm at least brave enough to hear." He made himself let go, but he couldn't pull back, and his hand hovered near Nori's braided beard. "And I'd touch you again. Mahal, I liked you that way."

Nori leaned in and knocked their foreheads together. Then he kissed Dwalin, softly for once, smoke on his breath. When he broke the kiss, he pushed the pipestem into Dwalin's open mouth and sat back. "I'll keep you supplied, then," was all he said. They shared the rest of the bowl in silence, as thunder rumbled down the valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never liked the level of coincidence in Elrond's reading of the moon-letters, so I've made it more of a PITA here -- though the bit about Thorin's vexation is straight from the text.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and it was morning

Dwalin's day must have caught up with him, or maybe it was just the soldier's habit of catching his sleep as he could. He woke with a start as the dawn's rays hit his sheltered perch. His pipe was empty and Nori was gone. The bottle of Dorwinion remained.

Dwalin picked it up and considered. There was no way it would fit in his pockets, even if he did not keep them habitually full of useful things (his pipe of course, also a hoof pick, a measuring tape, a thin leather envelope of cram, two dozen variously-sized rivets and a hammer, &c). But he supposed it was his now, token of.... whatever it was Nori was trying, or trying not, to convey. There was a paper label stuck to it, a white bird flying above a blue ship, bright against the dark glass. He decided to bring it back to his room.

Balin was there, bleary-eyed but awake, writing in his personal journal. "Those moon-letters are going to kill me," he declared, "if they're there at all -- especially if they're not, I suppose. Tonight's moonrise was three hours after midnight, and it was pouring rain, and Elrond wouldn't say if the weather would interfere with the reading. Thorin was a right ass about it too." He knuckled his eyeballs. "I dearly hope he's asleep."

Dwalin was not used to being the morning person, and it made him feel generous and smug. "Go ahead and nap, brother," he said. "The moon will rise even later tonight. I'll see if I can find you some coffee for then."

Balin yawned. "A wonderful idea. Ask Bombur?" The elves seemed to drink only teas and tisanes, and those more soothing than stimulating. "Elrond doesn't seem to know what the word tired means."

"Mad as mercury, all of them." Though Dwalin was wondering, if he went back to the library, what interesting concoctions he might bargain for, and what knowledge he might be able to give away. The idea still made him feel traitorous, but it was still almost irresistible. On a sudden whim, he said, "I bet you've got a headache. Let me rub your temples."

Balin nodded, putting away his pen and book while Dwalin again opened his jar of Elvish cream. The brothers arranged themselves on Balin's mattress with the elder's head in the younger's lap. Dwalin took the smallest amount of the stuff on two fingertips, smoothing it across the beloved, worry-creased forehead, the snow-white brows, the heavy ridge of bone above the eyes that marked the two as closest family. Before the touch reached Balin's temples at all the bright dark eyes had slid shut, and by the time Dwalin's fingers touched his jaw, he was starting to snore. Dwalin gently rolled his brother's head onto an enormous Elvish pillow, stashed the jar and the Dorwinion with Grasper and Keeper, and left Balin to his dreams.

There were rain-puddles on their balcony, but the day was bright and the people there were having a merry time. Bifur and Bofur had been making flying toys -- dragonflies and double-rounds and twirling sticks with wings, scores of them -- and the Company were sending them soaring out across Rivendell. Elves attempted to shoot them down with arrows, not very successfully, as the tiny shapes fluttered shakily through the sky. Even Kili couldn't help laughing as he launched his twirlers high, though he looked enviously at the archers. Just as Dwalin arrived, a half-dozen elves ran past him, clutching handfuls of flyers retrieved from the valley below. They clustered around Bifur, who sat with his little hammer and glue-pot, deftly repairing any damages so the toys could be sent aloft again.

Dwalin watched him work as he ate (the food really had gotten better; there was hot porridge with nuts). Bofur was doing all the talking, but both cousins laughed a lot. Everyone else, not counting Balin (who was asleep) and Thorin (who probably was as well) stood at the rail, taking their turns at launching. Except for Nori, who came to sit with Dwalin, his face wry. "I don't like Big People very much," he said, quoting a hobbit who had not wanted to share a table in Bree.

"Neither do I," said Dwalin loyally, "though this lot aren't so bad when they're playing like dwarrowlings." He wondered if the elves had children -- he certainly hadn't seen any, though perhaps they were simply being kept safely away somewhere. Perhaps they sprouted from trees after all. "Come," he said, as he finished his porridge and the sweet tisane, "I promised Fili a practice this morning, would you do me the favor of pairing with him?"

Nori considered, then nodded. Fili was sitting on the balcony ledge, sending double-rounds spinning lazily down through the breeze. But, well-trained lad he was, within the moment he turned around, snapped to attention, and said "Sir! Our drill?" If he would rather have stayed with the elves and the toys, Fili kept it hidden.

Dwalin nodded, pleased. He saw Kili start to look sulky and added, "You too. Openhanded, we'll have two-on-ones. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balin's usually the caregiving brother, but Dwalin really likes to take his turn.
> 
> We'll have the fighting-practice next chapter. Arguably nothing of substance happens in this one (aww, no smut! :) but my writing-process needs me to get from hither to yon this way sometimes. Thanks for bearing with me if this one's dull!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young folk at martial arts. Supervised by Dwalin, who is not so young.

Dwalin didn't know, and mostly didn't want to know, if Fili and Kili were shield-brothers as well as brothers by birth. He had trained them separately, and yet they moved together. In open-handed practice it became difficult to tell who was attacker and who the attacked. It was wrong to say they fought as if they danced; on the rare occasions that a blow landed full-force it hit much harder than a clumsy foot. (Kili once broke a bone in his own finger trying to get a knife-strike around Fili's shield.) Perhaps they sparred as if they spoke, fluent and understanding, occasionally finishing one another's sentences.

Nori was a foreigner, native to a different language.

All three were barefoot and bare-chested, without apparent arms or armor (though Dwalin would not have vouched for the contents of Nori's trousers, let alone his hair). Nori was shorter than Fili, slighter than Kili, and more heavily pelted than either. He'd taken out his nursing-token, precluding both the risk of unpleasant accidents and potentially awkward questions from innocent heirs. 

As one of the attackers, Nori stood back as the heirs engaged, looking vaguely disinterested. Then, following some logic Dwalin could not perceive, he would dart into the melee, seize a finger or a foot or place a single hard shove, and the attacked would be laid out flat. Just as often, his supposed teammate would be thrown off-guard and lose the timing. Nori never pinned -- he stood as straight as he ever did throughout, sliding back to a safe distance immediately. Kili tended to recover quickly, diving in for the hold. Fili took longer, enabling Kili to scramble up with a grin that was half awkward and half pride.

When Nori was attacked, he went down like a cat getting a bath -- shrieking and flailing, and doubtless dangerous if he'd held blades. Kili and Fili had to pin him together, which did illustrate how well-matched they were as allies. It was obvious that Nori was not used to such practice; he wasted enormous amounts of energy as he was laid out. Dwalin clapped him out very quickly every time. But he was red-faced and panting before either of the heirs had broken a sweat, and after the third full round Dwalin set the lads to calisthenics, where each could work to his own strength and pace.

Fili and Kili were used to this, having decades of Dwalin's regimen behind them, and recent hard living followed by Rivendell rest had strengthened them both (though Kili was still too thin). Nori was not, and clearly exhausted. Dwalin crouched beside him and said, "That was fine fighting, and I've never seen the like. Where did you learn that?"

Nori seemed surprised, as if he had expected censure or at least correction. "With Dori," he said. "Against Men, mostly, when we were traveling -- Men are big, but Dori was always stronger." He hesitated. "Of course Dori never fights if he can help it. He says it's a waste. Easy to say if you're threatening enough, eh, guardsman?" Nori cocked his head, as if weighing the word as an insult. To Dwalin, it sounded like teasing from the thief he'd never caught, and he smiled.

"I'm not as threatening as Dori," he said, because it was true. "And no dwarf is threatening enough to scare off orcs or goblins. What do you do one-on-one?"

"Drink and complain, as you've discovered." Nori sank to the grass and lay his head on his arms, giving up any pretense of holding plank position. "I'm no fighter," he said. "The mace makes a good walking staff. But given my knives," he grimaced, "I'm not fun to fight with, either."

Dwalin thought he might find fighting Nori fun, though he would have to be wary of knives, if those were allowed. And he'd already seen more of Nori's behavioral repertoire than drinking and complaining. But as he contemplated these intriguing facts, the heirs approached, finally out of breath after their exercises. "Hey, Nor," said Fili, one arm draped around his brother's sweaty shoulder, "we're going to clean up! Care to join us?"

Nori looked at Dwalin as if for permission. Dwalin found he was both reluctant to grant it and aware that he had no authority in the matter. So he shrugged while Kili hauled Nori to his feet, and only watched as the brothers slung Nori's slight frame easily between themselves. "Off we go, cat into the bath!" said Kili. He saluted Dwalin jauntily with his free hand, and the youngsters headed back to the halls, leaving Dwalin alone on the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR I DID NOT EXPECT THIS TO HAPPEN....what happened to my PLOT???
> 
> (i admit i have been writing more to themes than plot-points. guess this will get me into trouble now and then. WHEEE!)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elder brothers have their privileges :)

Dwalin didn't feel like lingering on the Elvish lawn. He hadn't worked out at all, but he felt unaccountably weary. After allowing the young people a few minutes' grace, he headed inside (inasmuch as that word meant anything in Elvish architecture).

The babble of young voices distracted him -- Fili, Kili, and Nori were splashing in a fountain. Of course the heirs did not rate the private chambers of a king, and the elf-sized baths were uncomfortably deep, especially if one wasn't even tall for a dwarf. As Dwalin approached, he wondered at his previous assessments of the youths' respective sizes. Nori might actually be taller than Fili; the prince visibly swelling in combat whereas Nori seemed to shrink. But by far the largest person in the fountain was Dori.

Dori was naked, breathtakingly so. Nori lay just underwater in front of him, flanked and supported by the princes. Around them all floated the immense mass of Nori's unbraided hair -- where were the pins? Dori tenderly scrubbed Nori's scalp, and the princes worked diligently at untangling the twining, trailing ends. Dwalin leaned into a spot on the fountain's edge, where no water flowed over, and noted that the thief was still wearing his smalls. Probably had a knife or two tucked away there. He had to laugh.

Nori snapped upright at the sound, eyes wide in a way Dwalin had seen before. Dori looked over as well, glaring. Dwalin couldn't stop his laughter at either, even though he realized it would have been polite. Fortunately Kili joined in, and Fili sent a wave rushing over to soak Dwalin's shirt. Then everybody was at least smiling, though it looked a little awkward on Dori's part. Dwalin made a note to tell his brother that insults to Dwalin's dignity, at least, seemed to amuse their gorgeous porter.

"Don't let me interrupt," he said, smiling back. Fili made as if to splash him again, and Dori cuffed him lightly, and the lad bent obediently back to his task. Nori seemed a little stiff still, but at least he was getting thoroughly cleaned and detangled -- the other three dwarves together didn't have quite that much hair. Dwalin realized he would give a lot to be participating, but he pushed the thought back. Perhaps he'd find some chance later to have those auburn waves all to himself.

It took some time, but they finished eventually. Dori wound Nori's hair in a single simple rope like a child's, his beard likewise, and left his eyebrows draping like a pony's forelock over his eyes. Dwalin had to admit he found that last bit particularly fetching. Dori beckoned imperiously to Fili and the lads swapped places, golden locks soon flaring loose and wet in Dori's fingers.

Dori's hair, Dwalin noticed, was still a net of perfect mithril chains, and his broadly muscled shoulders were set firmly to his task. As they all were ignoring him for now, Dwalin merely admired for a few minutes, then stole away back to his room.

"Balin?" he whispered on entering. The sun was shining in through a skylight, and Balin's eyes opened slowly, his face still slack with sleep. "Ready to get up?"

Balin stretched under the silken sheet, as white as his beard, then nodded slowly and sat up. "Coffee?" he asked hopefully.

"Not till later," said Dwalin severely. "You'll need it after midnight. Don't push yourself! But there's something better right now. A certain porter is in the fountain without a stitch on, looking like his doughty muscles and overstressed nerves might use a bit of comfort and care."

Balin raised a bushy eyebrow. "Right," he said, and without further ado stood up and started dressing. Without being asked or asking, Dwalin rummaged to the bottom of Balin's packs, and underneath the heavy red travel-wear found what he was looking for: a linen vest with the edges embroidered in Durin blue. He held it up and Balin looked surprised, then shot him a grin. "Right," he said again, and Dwalin helped him put it on. They stashed the silver-wrapped jar in Balin's pocket, and returned to the fountain together.

Their timing was perfect. The lads were still splashing, but Dori was just climbing out, water beading on his pelt and catching the sparkling sunshine. Balin went forward smoothly, lifting a towel from their pile and offering it to the porter, who accepted it with grace. They spoke together briefly, voices pitched too low for Dwalin to hear, and Balin placed one gentle hand respectfully around Dori's sculptured bicep. Balin smiled gently, and Dori said, "Nori, your things will be in our room. Lads," and he managed to include Dwalin in his nod around, before allowing Balin to lead him back towards the dwarves' hallway.

There was a moment of stunned silence all around. After the elders had disappeared, Kili whooped, and Dwalin smiled at him benignly. "Day's gone warm," he said. "I could use a soak myself," he said. He stripped neatly and properly down to his own bare skin, put his clothes safely outside of splashing range, and climbed into the flowing water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am really stuck on the image of nori looking up from under his long, sweeping eyebrows!
> 
> i possibly could add a new relationship-tag here after all, but i don't know exactly what decides when one uses them, and i'm not precisely clear on what our greybeards are going to go get up to, anyway. 
> 
> apologies to anyone hoping for more fili/kili content -- i thought this would be funnier :)
> 
> in my head, dwarves tend to sink in water.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smalls! SMUT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for semi-subtle exhibitionism in front of people who might rather not have happened to see that.

Fili lay back against his brother's shoulder as Kili put in his braids, dextrous and precise, but slow -- the opposite, Dwalin thought, of Kili's usual way of doing things. He could see their mouths move as if they murmured together, but not hear what they said above the splash and burble of the fountain. Just as well, he decided, and closed his eyes.

A little later he felt a movement in the water, and without opening his eyes, Dwalin reached for it. He grasped what seemed to be a handful of thin, solid arm, and he pulled it close, arranging what had to be Nori and his long, swirling single-rope braid on his lap. "Fish in the fountain?" he whispered, and when Nori squirmed, "Slippery little eel..." But then Nori settled in close and quiet, to Dwalin's delight. He nuzzled down into Nori's hair, blessedly free of sharp objects, blissfully soft and heavy, like wet silk. Nori made a small pleased sound, tipping his head back until Dwalin's mouth fell again on the delicate bare skin beneath his ear. Dwalin nipped him, and Nori made the sound again.

Dwalin opened his eyes for a quick look around, decided that anything visible above the waterline wasn't worse than what the heirs of Durin were up to. Below the water and for sound, the burbling fountain offered some camouflage. Nori's eyes were narrowed, his expression more closed and cautious than Dwalin would have expected, or liked. "I mean to hold you here a little, Nori," he said, "and talk to you, and touch. You don't have to do anything, but you must tell me," said Dwalin, low but serious, "if you want me to stop."

He waited for Nori's sharp, brief nod. At that, he felt a little giddy, the blood coming to heat his center, Mahal's apron modestly withdrawing. Nori's smalls were rough against the bit of Dwalin's cock that poked out first, and he rubbed his bearded chin on Nori's neck, hoping to replicate the sensation. "That's not so bad, is it?" he whispered, wrapping his arms low around Nori's waist, one palm pressing over the apron, one thumb slipping just under the linen. "That's pretty nice. I'd rather feel your arse though." Nori squirmed obligingly until he was sitting on Dwalin's cupped palm. "Good lad," said Dwalin. "I'd like it even better without this cloth between us."

Nori murmured indistinctly, and Dwalin reluctantly opened his eyes again. The heirs were still slumped together across the fountain, Kili in Fili's arms now, their heads bent low together. Nori said clearly and quietly, "All right," and Dwalin rumbled his approval.

Nori's smalls were an old-fashioned sort, a single length of linen wrapped around and folded into itself. Dwalin found an end and untucked it, unwinding just enough to bare Nori's backside to his hand. "Ah, that is nice," he said, leaning back to take Nori's weight on his chest, stroking his fingers along the curve of Nori's flank. "So warm...." He let one finger -- his littlest, Mahal be blamed -- press into the cleft, and sighed. "So small," he added. "I'd take all day to open you up. Start with my tongue -- would you come that way, I wonder? -- anyway loosen you up a bit, relax you." He kissed Nori's neck again, letting his tongue swipe up to his ear. "I love how you can relax. So sweet, little one, so beautiful, all big eyes then, and me wondering where your knives are. And you taste so good." He closed his mouth briefly, inhaling, intoxicated by Nori's body, the way his neck and arse tensed and released in turn. He pressed a second fingertip alongside the first, feeling the ridged rim of the anvil's hole. "My fingers next," he whispered, "if you like them, if they feel good inside you, stroking you, softening you up. Only as much as you like, of course. But if you do like it, if you want it, maybe after that you could have my cock." By then Dwalin was fully hard and the apron fully retracted, and it was so easy to shift Nori so that cock and cleft aligned, pressed together parallel. The heat was more than Dwalin expected, and he sucked in air. Nori's long fingers grabbed his thighs and his head lolled back on Dwalin's chest. "That's right, my cock," Dwalin whispered, mindfully quiet, "every jewel of it sliding into you, to honor you, fill you with my treasure." He chuckled suddenly. "You've had the weight of it already. Think you know what it's worth, down to carat and clarity, with your clever clever hands." Nori was half gasping and half laughing, and Dwalin rocked his hips up, as slowly as he could. "I'd fill your mouth," he added confidingly, "maybe sometime. But I'd rather hear you laugh."

Nori chuckled again, moving forward slightly and freeing Dwalin's cock. For a moment he was chilled by the bubbling water, and Mahal's apron twitched, but then he was in Nori's hands, fingertips tracing around each inlaid stone. Dwalin choked himself back from orgasm, forcing himself to stillness. Then he reached around under Nori's smalls to the front.

Nori's cock was longer than Dwalin's grip, narrow as a dagger, and apparently unadorned. "A stiletto," Dwalin gasped. "Never without a blade, you. An old bear like me, you could slight straight in, up under the heart, you'd lay me out and slay me. Oh, Mahal, oh, _Nori_...." and this time he let himself come, choking back only his voice while his heart pounded like thunder. He held hard to Nori, one hand on his hammer, the other back on his arm, and buried his face in wet red hair. When he felt Nori's spending warm and heavy as it flowed through the water, he started to breathe again.

When he opened his eyes, Kili and Fili had moved into deeper water, and there was some rhythmic splashing going on. Dwalin laughed again, and gently tucked Nori's linens back around his hips.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just more time in Rivendell. Also Bifur and Ori -- yeah, those guys.

Nori didn't sit still for long, though Dwalin would have liked him to. When Dwalin's attention was diverted by the heirs, Nori slipped away and was out of the fountain in a trice, disappearing without a backward glance. Dwalin sighed. Nori probably wanted to be re-united with his blades (and whatever else those lumps in his clothing were) as quickly as possible. Perhaps there wasn't anything sharper than the stiletto in Nori's smalls after all.

He got out more slowly himself, availing himself of the enormous Elvish towels (one just for his beard and hair) before getting dressed. He did not want to be further diverted by the heirs, and was mildly concerned lest they become diverted by him. The dwarves' quarters also seemed like a bad choice. The last thing Dwalin wanted to do was disturb Balin and Dori. The second-to-last was to make Nori feel pursued. He'd done that often enough, and always fruitlessly, in Ered Luin; no point trying again in Rivendell. A good soldier knows when to wait.

He decided to return to the library. He could always ask Bombur about coffee over supper, but he was curious about Elvish stimulants; wasn't Elrond famous as an herbalist and a healer? And if they had something that could ease Thorin and Balin's go at the moon-letters, perhaps it would be worth taking some along to ease night watches along the rest of the journey. Dwalin considered again what he could trade, and fell back upon his pride: he would offer the elves a genealogy of the line of Durin. Then they'd know who their guests had been, whatever the outcome of their quest.

An elf -- Dwalin would not have recognized it in particular; they mostly looked alike to him, particularly when they changed clothes -- greeted him by name, and he was mildly embarrassed to admit he had not yet finished reading the book on farriery in Rohan. But he made his offer of trade, and the elf was agreeable. Before long he found himself seated at a desk with paper and graphite and erasers and ink, as well as a thick cushion which made it nearly a comfortable height to work at. The elf went off to twitter with some other elves about concoctions appropriate for the Dwarvish constitution.

The most important ones came first: Thorin, Fili, Kili. He worked backwards to Fundin and then Balin and himself, then outwards again. He paused at some second cousins once removed, trying to remember the name of the middle lass's spouse, wondering whether Balin might deign to check his work. Then a decidedly non-Elvish peal of laughter broke his concentration -- what was Bifur doing in the library?

Dwalin set his work aside and went to see. A few stacks away, there was a drafting table beneath a high window. There were two chairs in front of it, both thickly cushioned, but only one occupied. Bifur had a set of drawings for rotor kites before him, Ori on his lap, and both his hands moving rapidly underneath Ori's sweater. Possibly he was signing something. Ori choked off a giggle, then leaned forward to make a note on the drawing. Dwalin felt himself grinning so hard he thought his face might crack in two, and withdrew as quietly as possible. Let the elves walk in on that!

He was still smiling as he sat back on his own cushioned chair, and left off the Line of Durin to start a new sheet. Those elves should know who all of the Company were, not only those with royal attachments. Dori, Nori, Ori in a line together, all sharing one parent and two sharing another. Bombur and Bofur together, but what sort of cousin of theirs was Bifur? Dwalin drew the squares, left the lines blank. Then he went back to the Durins to add Gloin's lad Gimli, and racked his head for the names of Bombur's children.

He'd gotten seven names down when his elf (he was pretty sure it was the same one) returned, carrying three different canteens: one green, one grey, and one white. "These might suit," it said, a bit hesitantly. "You may try them, or your fellows. None should have ill effects, but they may last overlong or not long enough, or be unpalatable. Please let us know and we will provide the formulas, or modify them as needed."

This did not fill Dwalin with confidence. "Are any of them coffee?" he asked hopefully, and was relieved when the elf indicated the green.

"With maple syrup," it added. The notion had never crossed Dwalin's mind, but it made his mouth water. "The white also has maple," the elf continued, "but I don't know the Westron names for the rest. Perhaps your healer would consult with us?"

"I can ask," said Dwalin. He couldn't quite imagine the elf shouting into Oin's ear trumpet. "I'll be back to finish this later," he added. He had questions for Bombur, and for Balin, first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have not yet drawn a map of rivendell, but i've got it mostly in my head. i half want a drawing for reference and half don't want it in case i end up with inconsistencies i'll want to correct :)
> 
> in my head the other stimulants are guaranine and yohimbine. i am trying to decide whether to include the aphrodisiac aspects of yohimbine somewhere later in this fic, which just goes to show you how awful a geek i really am :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to stjarni frá hjallanesi, my little war pony, my own soul mate.

Dwalin's calligraphy had never been any better than passing, but it was legible, and that would be good enough. He wrote the name of Bombur's youngest (there were eleven -- seven born, four adopted, no wonder Bombur could cook for a crowd) and inked in the lines of relationship. Whenever they died, in battle or by dragon or old and asleep in their beds, their names would be recorded in these halls. Dwalin had heard that elves were deathless, except by violence or loss in love (which struck him as silly; didn't their Maker give them other work, for hands to mend the broken heart?) and they forgot nothing they ever saw or read. He might or might not believe it, but if it was true, the Company's names and lines and passage here would be in those long memories. He put his sigil and the date in the corner with satisfaction.

The library's lamps were lit, and Dwalin remained in his cushioned chair, reading about horse-shoeing in Rohan. Particularly intriguing was the use of borium for grip -- that would make winter campaigning with cavalry feasible. Apparently the Rohirrim had a great cavalry, though dwarves used ponies in war mostly for supplies, relying on infantry to do battle. Dwalin considered his prospects of fighting from atop a mount -- the height might be an advantage, as would the speed. Ponies like Nori's would be sure to spook, but if the Rohirrim rode horses into fighting, might there also be beasts of a manageable size that would behave similarly?

When the library elf returned, Dwalin asked, and some candle-marks later he was still reclining, flipping through an illustrated history labelled "Horses of Valor". He was particularly taken by a picture of a black mare, strongly built, with a mane to rival his own and a pale spiderweb of scarring on her hindquarters; she was said to have slain orcs by striking out with her hooves. If the orc in the drawing was to scale, she would be just of a size to carry Dwalin. Her name was Kolfaxa...

He was startled from his reverie, or possibly his dreams, by Balin bending over him. "What are you doing here?" his brother whispered. "It's time to go!"

"What?" Dwalin shook himself, coming to attention. "Did the moon-runes get read?"

"Yes, and Thorin wants us out of here at once. I don't know what was in that drink," he looked at Dwalin sidewise, "but he's not going back to bed. I packed your things. Come on!"

Dwalin stood and put the book aside with some regret, and followed Balin outside. His pony was indeed tacked up and ready, and the rest of the Company milled around blearily in the pre-dawn gloom. Thorin was mounted and looking impatient; the hobbit was drinking tea and looking wistful; Elvish voices joined the chorus of birdsong. Dwalin's pony shook her head at him, impatient as well -- and why hadn't he ever so much as named her? Her mane was a bushy white cloud around her neck; Skyfaxa.

He pulled himself into her saddle, and Thorin waved them all to ride out. As they left Rivendell in a murmur of hoofbeats and a cloud of dust, Dwalin noticed something braided into Skyfaxa's mane by her withers. He extracted it very carefully: a tiny, narrow knife, with an antler handle and a needle-sharp tip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i happen to be very fond of ponies, so i've allowed the party to keep theirs a little longer than canon. please to indulge my fancies :) 
> 
> the horse names, like dwarf names, are icelandic.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road's an inhospitable place, but Thorin's Company are resourceful.

Dwalin stood under the narrow overhang, fascinated and terrified. He hardly noticed the rain, though he was soaked through and shivering. Bifur stood beside him, one arm around Dwalin's waist, boar-spear steadying them in his other hand. The stone-giants' great arms rose and snapped like catapults, flinging boulders the size of ponies at one another, and their laughter when they struck rolled through the mountains like the tremors of an earthquake. Dwalin could only stare, wondering if these were some other children of Mahal -- great stones shaped to movement, given life and violent joy. The giants reveled in ferocity, needing no warmth of hearth or forge, strong and pitiless and beautiful as any storm or mountain peak. And Bifur laughed along with them, teeth and the white in his beard flashing bright in the lightning.

After what seemed like forever, Fili and Kili came creeping back down the narrow trail. Dwalin ran to meet the boys a hundred yards away, clasping their dear little bodies close, hopelessly trying to shield them under his warg-skin. Kili was trying to say something, but Dwalin couldn't hear over the pounding rain. He signed _Patience_ on Kili's wet furry cheek, and dragged them past Bifur to the rest of the Company, huddled as far under the rocks as they could be. The hobbit, who had seemed so happy in Rivendell, seemed even more miserable than the dwarves, curled into a tiny niche with his arms wrapped around his knees, and Tharkun sat next to him in a quite similar posture, tall grey hat pulled down to his long nose. 

Oin dosed both lads with whiskey while Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin got them out of their wet things and wrapped in blankets. "We found a cave," said Kili, first thing, and Fili added, "and a path the ponies can take. Quarter-mile maybe...." There was a general roar of relief. Even at the back of this space, raindrops spattered and trickled down the walls, and the ponies crowded uneasily."Quarter-mile," Kili went on, "and only one steep bit, we left some pitons there." Dwalin clapped his shoulder for that. Then everyone was packing as best they could, throwing oilskins over as much of themselves as possible. Dori pulled the hobbit out of his hole (Dwalin felt bad for the poor creature; it was no Bag End, but he seemed more reluctant to leave it) and set him on one shoulder, and they took off.

Fili and Kili took the lead again, and with their porter already loaded down, Dwalin and Bifur brought up the rear behind the ponies. When the lightning struck nearby Nori's beast nearly shied itself right off the narrow, slippery track, and Dwalin was very proud of Skyfaxa when she pinned her ears and nipped him back into line. When they reached the "steep bit" the pitons came loose beneath the ponies' hooves, but Bofur hung back to replace them with a sturdier arrangement, and exchanged fierce grins with his cousin as Bifur and Dwalin chivvied Bombur's sturdy mount and Tharkun's leggy white horse up over them. Dwalin was suddenly grateful that Thorin had recruited miners.

He was grateful for the wizard as well, when they finally reached the cave. The lads had apparently chosen well; the wizard's light revealed a single cavern with an uneven floor, a shelteringly low roof, and enough depth to keep them all well out of the weather. Once he had decided it was safe, Tharkun set himself to amusing everyone by making colored lights that danced and clustered. Bombur created a cold but filling supper -- there was even a soup made from dried fruit which was hearty enough to please everyone, though they all laughed when he confessed he'd learned the recipe from the elves. Slowly, as they began to dry off a bit, everyone began to relax.

Bifur stayed by the cave's mouth, still entranced the weather. With him was Bofur, who had the watch. Nori and Ori fell asleep in each others' arms, and as Dori tucked an afghan tenderly about his brothers, Dwalin overheard Balin say, "Well done, Master Dori; I thank you especially for your efforts with our burglar. Perhaps you might allow me to attend to your shoulders?"

Dwalin put some tactful distance between himself and his brother at that. He found himself back by the cave entrance, where the storm still raged. But somehow, viewed from a dry spot among friends and dancing rainbow lights, he could almost see the beauty Bifur found in it; the power of the heavens, the laughter of the giants. He decided this was worth celebrating, and pulled that last bottle of Dorwinion from his pack. He and Bifur and Bofur passed it around in silence as the Company fell asleep, and Dwalin joined them in dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what tolkien meant for the origin of stone-giants, and i have the impression he didn't much either. (there are various references to them as "children of morgoth", but that has problems of its own... :) dwalin's theological speculations are original to him.
> 
> (i had to rescue the dorwinion. no spoiler that next chapter things will get worse!)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goblin-town!

Bilbo shouted as goblins poured into the cave, and Dwalin scarcely woke in time to grab Grasper and Keeper before he was bodily grabbed by goblins himself. There were at least eight of the evil creatures bearing him up like a sack of potatoes. Dwalin roared and struggled and slashed, and three of them screamed and spurted blood and fell away. But there were more to replace them, and soon it was all he could do to keep hold of his axes at all.

The whole party had been seized, ponies included, and they were carried into a tunnel opened at the back of the cavern (and they had _miners_ , Dwalin thought bitterly, why had they let a _wizard_ vouch for the safety of the place?) He heard their betraying shelter shut away with a snap of stone into stone, and they were carried down through winding, pitch-black tunnels. The goblins laughed and sang and pinched their prisoners, and when the tunnel widened into something like a road, they dumped the dwarves on their feet and smacked them to run ahead with whips. Dwalin would have turned and roared and fought -- he saw Bifur starting to do the same -- but he also heard Ori's yelp of terror from ahead, and knew they could not win this battle. He grabbed his shield-brother's shoulder, and they ran after the rest.

Eventually they were brought to a great, fire-lit cavern. It was a terrible place, smoky and unclean, where the goblins' king awaited them on a throne. A score of the creatures were already busy disemboweling the ponies and rummaging through the packs, which made Dwalin want to strike out again, and again only the fearful weeping of terrified dwarves stayed his hand. He hid his axes under his warg-skin, wishing he and his weapons were as subtle as Nori. He felt utterly helpless, unable to defend any of them as another platoon of goblins cuffed the Company's hands behind their backs and chained them into a line.

Thorin made his way to the front, and he and the goblin-king exchanged words which Dwalin ignored. No good was going to come of any parley. Bifur stood to one side of him, boar-spear fallen tantalizingly out of reach; at the other was Oin, shaking with terror or rage or both. Dwalin was considering whether the linked dwarves could use the chain as a kind of giant garrote, and how he could possibly arrange this company into a unit that could function that way, when the cavern was shocked with a tremendous explosion.

Tharkun was still with them, his wizardry blasting the goblins' fire like gunpowder. In the dazzling darkness after, Dwalin saw a sliver of glowing blue and then an obscuring fountain of black -- Thorin had managed to draw a glowing sword, and run the king of goblins through. Nori stood beside him, hands also free. He lifted the dwarves' imprisoning chain in his hand and shouted, "RUN!"

Run they did, stumbling against one another in their fear. Bofur took the lead without a word, dwarves streaming out on the chains to his left and right, trusting the miner's stone-sense to lead them to safety. As they went, Nori went methodically along the chain, running behind each dwarf for a few moments and somehow freeing them from the cruel cuffs. Then Tharkun snapped an order to Thorin, and the two of them stayed back, turning blue-gleaming swords again against the goblins who pursued.

It was not quite dark outside and still raining when they broke out of the mountain, half-tumbling like boulders themselves until they were no longer in the Misty Mountains at all. They staggered through a flat forested place as the sun was beginning to rise. Balin called a halt then, and Bombur attempted to inventory what few possessions they still had. All the ponies were lost, and nearly all the baggage. While Oin tended to cuts and bruises, Thorin and the wizard appeared, with the air of triumph that accompanies surviving a battle even when everything else is lost. But as the rain dissipated into the day, two members of the company remained missing: Bilbo and Dori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book canon with liberties, except that book pov is with Bilbo for some of this and the next chapter, so I'm talking about different things.


	29. Chapter 29

Dwalin waited until Oin had salved and bound the goblin-bite above his wrist. Nasty things, bites, and this one was already burning red. If it weren't for Oin, he'd worry it would fester. He tested his grip with Keeper and deemed it adequate, with about seventy per cent of range and enough strength not to drop it. Then he slid both axes across his back, and started to walk back to the Misty Mountains.

There was an immediate uproar. "Dwalin, your knee...!" from Oin, "Don't, we'll go," from Fili, and its followup "We're the scouts, our eyes are the best," from Kili, and some Khuzdul syllables from Bifur that Dwalin didn't even try to parse. Over it all, he heard Ori's quiet, wheezy weeping, and walked faster. He'd gone fully two miles, right back to the treeline, before he realized he was being followed.

Nori had put himself to Dwalin's left, just entering his peripheral vision. "That way," he said, "behind where the creek drops off." He headed over himself, and it took Dwalin ten steps to catch up and grab his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" said Dwalin, outraged. "I've got two to get out, are you trying to make it three?"

Nori glared back. "I'm getting them out," he drawled back. "Supplying our Company with its porter and its burglar, who I daresay are pretty special. What were you going to do if they're locked in chains?"

"Bring them back chains and all," said Dwalin, and Nori laughed.

"Don't be stupid," he said, not ungently. "Chained to a wall. Locked in a cell. We all ran in chains, but they're still inside." He squinted at Dwalin. "This isn't a battle, master-at-arms, and you aren't a guardsman in there."

Dwalin shrugged. He knew he hadn't planned, and that he had to go anyway. "What are you going to do if they're knocked out or injured?" he returned. "Tuck them into your sleeves?"

Nori actually smiled. "Bilbo, perhaps. You can carry Dori. Unless I can get a pony back." The expression faded and he turned away. "Come on."

Dwalin did not like it. But Nori had never been contained by the Guard of Ered Luin, and after being tailed, Dwalin couldn't pretend he was in control here either. They re-entered the caves in silence, and walked on with only the sound of Dwalin's boots striking on the stone. In the darkness, Nori might as well not have been there at all, until the stone-sense brought them to a fork in the path. Then Nori's hand took Dwalin's lightly and tugged him to the right. Dwalin wrapped his fingers around Nori's, and they went on together, still to the uncanny sound of a single set of footfalls.

Sooner than Dwalin would have liked, the cold air became rank and the floor sticky with recently-spilled blood. Somehow Nori remained inaudible, his thin fingers in Dwalin's grip the only sign of his presence. They reached a place where the tunnel widened into a lightless cavern, and without negotiation they traversed it, stone-sense and memory leading them back along the path where they had fled.

A good half-hour later, as they descended a steep-pitched corridor, Nori halted. Dwalin turned to inquire, only to find the thief's hand clapped over his mouth, and he let himself be dragged back a few steps and down into a low, narrow crevice. They barely both fit, and Nori pulled Grasper and Keeper from Dwalin's back to keep them from striking against stone. Dwalin stifled a strong objection and allowed it, and moments later he heard the flat stamp of a goblin's approach. It slowed as it came near, and he could hear it snuffling in the dark. He felt Nori surge silently from their hiding-place, and a moment later the snuffling ceased, followed by a low thump. Then Nori was taking his hand again and drawing him out, pressing his axes back into his grip. Dwalin signed _Thanks_ onto Nori's fingers, but if he understood, he did not reply.

They crept along for what seemed like hours, retracing their steps. There were no more signs of goblins -- it seemed that even in their sheltered caves, the creatures were essentially nocturnal. Eventually they came to a fork where they disagreed: Dwalin was fairly certain that the party had come through a tunnel branching left, but Nori pressed them on straight ahead.

Dwalin signed frantically on Nori's fingers again, and Nori merely swatted him. So he pulled the slight dwarf to a halt against his chest, and leaned down to whisper into Nori's ear, "This way!"

"On our way back," replied Nori, even softer. "I want to see if we can get any of the ponies back, or our other supplies. The throne room is about a hundred yards ahead."

Dwalin wanted to shake him. "We need to find Dori and Bilbo," he hissed, though his heart also swayed for Skyfaxa.

"If they're where we last fought the goblins, they probably won't move in the next ten minutes," said Nori irritably. "If not, we'll have to track them anyway. And if they're disabled, a couple of ponies will get us out of here much faster than the pair of us carrying the pair of them."

"Ten minutes," said Dwalin, equally irritably, but allowed himself to be led forwards.

The throne-room was a shambles, lit by flickering embers where the great fire had been. The explosion had reduced the throne itself to shrapnel and kindling, and the king's corpse still lay facedown in the middle of the cavern. Dwalin hung back at the entrance, but there was a whickering sound and Nori bounded silently across to the heap of shadows where the ponies had been butchered. There was a clatter of hooves, and Dwalin took his axes in hand. He could just make out Nori's shadowy shape prowling around the edges of the room, followed by two much larger shapes. In much less than ten minutes, Nori was back at his side, with two ponies and an armful of objects.

Dwalin tugged them back into the tunnel, and Nori drew some rope from his vest and set to packing the things onto one of the ponies. "What did you find?" Dwalin whispered, keeping his axes out.

"Not much," he admitted. "What wasn't taken was largely burnt. I've got Kili's bow and quiver, Ori's flute, a box of Oin's. No food." He tested a knot, seemed satisfied, and they returned the way they had come.

This time they turned down the side-passage, the ponies' hooves making about as much noise as Dwalin's boots, which irritated him unreasonably. They almost tripped over Dori, lying at the edge of a deep crevice, out cold. Nori cursed under his breath and searched in Oin's box. Apparently he found some smelling salts, because he knelt by his brother, and soon Dori came gaspingly awake.

"Where's Bilbo?" Nori asked, as soon as Dori seemed able to answer.

But Dori could only shake his head. "I don't know," he said mournfully. He gestured around into the darkness and Nori lit a match -- there were the bodies of half a dozen goblins whose limbs had been torn off, but no hobbit. "He was on my shoulders when they jumped me. I fought back, but..."

"All right." Nori knocked his forehead gently against his brother's, helped him to stand. He looked up at Dwalin and said, "You take Dori back, and the ponies too. I'll go down there and keep looking for Bilbo. As you said, hope to be back by noon, but run if it gets close to dusk. The goblins will be awake then, and sure as sunset they'll come after us."

Dwalin did not like this; he didn't see much good in two dwarves leaving and two coming back, even with two ponies and three otherwise-lost possessions. But there was no way the ponies were going to navigate that crevice, and judging from the way Dori lay across his mount's shoulders, no way he was going to either. Before Dwalin could say another word, Nori had blown out the match and slipped silently down and away.


	30. Chapter 30

Dori's back hurt too much for him to sit up, let alone ride faster than a walk. He was covered in a slurry of stone-dust and goblin-blood, and half his braids had come out. He was still the most handsome dwarf Dwalin had ever seen.

It took longer for Dwalin to recognize Skyfaxa, as her brilliant white mane and every other marking was black and snarled with soot. She carried Dori with delicacy, as if she could tell he was injured. He realized his own mount was Nori's when it spooked at the shadow of a bird flying high overhead.

They plodded back into the campsite at mid-morning. Dwalin lifted Dori down, and the porter groaned; Ori and Balin crowded around Oin as the healer knelt to help. Thorin came over to take Dwalin's report as he led the ponies to the creek for water, and Dwalin gave it tersely: their supplier had gone on to retrieve their burglar. A few items had been recovered, and Thorin should take them to Bombur for inventory and return them to their owners, especially Oin's case. And Dwalin would be returning to the mountain with the ponies immediately.

He was moving mechanically until Thorin was shaking his shoulders. "Don't go back," said Thorin roughly. "We can't risk you any further." His pale eyes looked deep into Dwalin's, almost imploring.

Dwalin heard himself laugh. "You can't lose them. I won't be the one to nick the Arkenstone." Thorin flinched, but did not let go, and Dwalin leaned down until their foreheads pressed together. "I'm the one to keep them safe along the way." He moved away and remounted, on Skyfaxa this time, leading Nori's pony with the rope. He skirted the campsite as he made his way back to the mountain.

Above the treeline, Dwalin pondered the cave they had come through. It seemed unlikely they'd come out that way, since the crevice had, he felt fairly sure, been lower down inside the mountain. He dismounted, trusting Skyfaxa not to run off, and tied her unruly compatriot to her. and pressed his hands against the rocky face. He was no miner, and had lived above-ground for most of his life. But Mahal had gifted him with stone-sense, and he used it as best he could. He felt out the mountain's shape, following the paths his feet had already trodden. It began to feel like a part of his own body, or as if he were a part of the mountain; its crags like the spaces between his fingers, the caverns within like his own throat and lungs. There was the crevice in which Nori had hidden him, there was the throne-cavern, there was the ledge where they had found Dori. He dropped down off it, felt the slide of water nearby like the blood moving in his own veins.

There.

He could feel _Nori_ , small and solid like a pebble in his mouth. Almost taste him, quick and hot as molten metal. Downwards, yes, and south. Dwalin moved across the stone, step by slow step, not daring to lift his hands and lose that touch. He drifted, tripped, continued on his knees. Skyfaxa followed him, head down by his side, possibly hoping for a bite of cram from his pocket, and the slender pony skittered after her. Eventually he fetched up at a slot half-covered by a fallen boulder, and he knew Nori was not far beyond, that this air breathing into the mountain was the same air Nori breathed.

Dwalin opened his eyes. Something sparkled at his feet -- five miniature brass buttons. He knelt and sifted them through his fingers. They reminded him of Bilbo -- had the burglar crept out through there? The opening was tiny. There was no way it would allow a dwarf to pass.

He listened closer, heard the slap of goblins' feet inside.

Dwalin came to his full height with a roar, and with all his strength and sense, he seized the boulder in his arms and rocked it to one side. As it tumbled from its place, a high-pitched gabbling rose as the goblins nearest the opening burned in the sunlight. Dwalin grabbed his axes and ducked his head, went in slashing and screaming, "NORI!"

He could not have said later how long he fought or how many killed, but there was black blood everywhere when Nori raced past him, light as a pebble skipped across a lake. As soon as Nori's shadow was behind him, Dwalin turned and ran. He tossed Nori onto his pony, who would have bolted at once. But sturdy Skyfaxa refused to race headlong down the mountain and dug in her heels, and Dwalin was able to haul himself on before she set off at a pace she deemed suitable for the slope.

"Bilbo's out, I'm sure of it," Dwalin called to Nori, breathless. "I saw his buttons, nothing else like that this side of Bree."

"Buttons?" asked Nori. "I tracked him inside. There was another creature, close to a hobbit's size, smelling like fish-bones and rot. And goblins, a full brigade of guards." He sucked in a deep breath of clean mountain air. "Even worse than your type, Master Dwalin."

Dwalin smiled and the tension went out of him, knowing the Company was safe. When they reached flat ground, he put Skyfaxa into a canter. With a laugh, Nori cut the rope that tied their ponies together, and a moment later he and his mount had disappeared among the trees ahead. Dwalin let Skyfaxa dawdle and snatch at mouthfuls of leaves, wondering where Bilbo was, and if they still needed to track the light-footed little creature through the forest to guide him to their temporary camp.

He thought he saw a few low-broken branches here and there, but Dwalin was no huntsman or scout. Bifur might be able to do it, though Dwalin thought the hobbit seemed a little afraid of the warrior's lack of Westron. Kili or Fili (inevitably Kili and Fili) were probably the better choice. Balin was standing watch between the mountains and their clearing in the woods, and he saluted Dwalin with a great smile and a shout as he rode by.

In the camp, Tharkun was scolding Dori for losing the hobbit, which struck Dwalin as monstrously cruel and unfair. Dori hadn't even managed to clean up, and his braids were still a wreck, though at least he was sitting upright with a compress strapped onto his side while he argued with the wizard. "...and here we are without the burglar, confusticate him!" said Dori, with some agitation.

And then suddenly Bilbo was among them, saying "And here's the burglar!" in his merry way.

His waistcoat was certainly lacking its buttons, too. Everyone was shocked, though Tharkun at least seemed very smug and pleased. Bilbo started telling his story, which involved not only goblins but a riddle-game with some other creature in the dark, and sounded very improbable to Dwalin overall. Balin was shocked that Bilbo appeared to have walked right by him, but Dwalin was more confused that he had not overtaken the hobbit along the way. He took Skyfaxa to the creek to clean her up, and found Nori there scrubbing the soot from his pony as well.

"What do you think of the burglar's story?" Dwalin asked, and Nori took a long time to respond.

"That was an uncanny creature, down where the water ran," he answered slowly, "and it was furious. It had certainly lost a game, and something else besides. The goblins were afraid of it, and so was I." The pony had a long burn-mark on its flank, and Nori washed it tenderly. "If Mister Baggins had the better of it, good for him. I'm a fool for having gone after him."

"You're not," said Dwalin stoutly. "You did for him same as for your own brother, and that's loyalty."

Nori's smile was thin and brief. "I did not say it was disloyal, only foolish. I don't know how Mister Baggins escaped -- it may only be that he's so small, and the goblins weren't looking for him. But I probably owe my own survival to you."

"I'm loyal as well," said Dwalin. Nori said nothing, so Dwalin turned away and sluiced water through Skyfaxa's mane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me the coincidence of saving the ponies I'd already introduced individually!!
> 
> I have taken the liberty of imagining stone-sense as able to feel dwarves, who are after all originally made of stone. Dwalin may have previously used this ability unconsciously in tracking suspects as a guardsman, but it's easier for him to find Nori, with whom he's already been somewhat intimate. (This may not bode well for Nori's criminal future on Dwalin's beat.)
> 
> I don't have a beta, and I'm tired -- today's been a ton of writing, I hope it comes out ok but reserve the right to revise and rephrase! Crits most appreciated :)
> 
> I'm completely off-base here in some ways, as the last few chapters have neither advanced my philosophical themes nor even contained any smut. Ah well, guess there's also love of the story in my heart; no telling when that might come out. If this section strikes anyone as too much recap of things you knew already, let me know that too?


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter involving bathing and laundry. Now with filthy ponies!

Just as Skyfaxa's mane was starting to show white, Ori and Balin came to the creek with Dori supported between them. They set him down gently on a rock under shallow water, where he sat curled in pain as they washed him clean of goblin-blood and filth.

Nori looked uncomfortable, fingers knotting into his pony's mane. "Do you want to help your brother, or to leave?" Dwalin asked.

The answer came slowly, with a sigh. "I'd better do his braids," Nori answered. "He won't be able to manage his style in this state, and he's horrible when he thinks he doesn't look nice."

Dwalin didn't dare laugh, nor comment on how Dori's looks were holding up. "That's kind," he said, but couldn't stop himself from adding, "Better take off your clothes." A braided eyebrow quirked. The creek was less than boot-depth where Nori stood, but he was already damp and sooty from cleaning his pony. "Bloodstains set stiff," Dwalin added, straight-faced.

Indeed, Ori was scrubbing Dori's clothing on the rocks while Balin tended to Dori's body. Ori still had all his own clothes on, while Balin and Dori were naked. Skyfaxa took the conversational interlude as an opportunity to climb up the bank, lie down, and roll, replacing some of the grime on herself with grass-stains. "Go on," said Dwalin encouragingly, "I'll groom your mount. He's dark as coal anyway, just can't have him getting galls."

"His name's Shadowwalker," said Nori, with a touch of belligerence, "and he's more use and tougher than the rest of you combined." Dwalin's own eyebrows rose, but he didn't argue, and Nori stalked off. He made a show of stripping -- only down to his smalls again, which Dwalin still found surprising. Ori greeted him with a smile and a wave, and folded Nori's clothes. Dori and Balin looked up with almost-identical slightly-pained expressions, and some words were exchanged before Nori folded himself beside Balin and started working on Dori's hair.

Dwalin watched across the pony's back. On consideration, he might have to reevaluate Dori as the most beautiful. Nori's pelt sparkled coppery in the water. He lacked his brother's excellent substance, but his lean body made fascinating play between fluidity in motion and a stillness like carved rock. He crouched on his heels, fingers making quick work of cleaning and untangling Dori's hair and beard (longer than Dwalin had expected, not as long as Nori's own), and set to elaborating the braids as deftly as any master weaving chainmail. Shadowwalker stamped and snorted, and Dwalin hung on grimly to his forelock, scrubbing with a scrap of Rivendell toweling and trying not to get stepped on. If the animal were used to Nori's touch, perhaps Dwalin had only his own massive clumsiness to blame for the spooks. But it would be embarrassing if he couldn't get one smallish pony clean in the time it took to create Dori's hairstyle, so Dwalin cursed under his breath and did his best.

Shadowwalker was reasonably clean, and Dwalin soaked to the skin, when Nori retrieved his clothes from his little brother and returned. "Why do you always keep your smallclothes on?" asked Dwalin, before he could think the better of it.

Nori squinted at him. Dwalin realized that the thief looked strained and exhausted, and that he didn't feel much better himself. Neither of them had had a moment's rest since the goblins had cracked open their cave, and with the safety of the summer's sunshine passing by, they were unlikely to get any soon. "What's it to you?" asked Nori finally.

"I'd like to see you bare." He suspected Balin and Dori would both kick him if they'd overheard, so he shook his head apologetically and stepped back from Shadowwalker. "Not that it's my business. It's your clothes, do what you like."

Nori's knife-smile came almost as a relief. "Still got the Dorwinion?" he asked.

"No," said Dwalin, "though the goblins didn't get it either, thank Mahal. I shared it with the watch while we were sheltering in the cave, when we all still felt safe."

Nori looked thoughtful. "Good enough. Make me feel safe again, guardsman, and I'll tell you more about my misspent youth."

That would be good enough for Dwalin too; he very much wanted Nori to feel safe, though he was a little afraid of Nori's tales without the gentling buffer of drink. "I'll try," he said, and Nori nodded.

Balin called out "Dwalin? Can you bring a pony for Dori?" The older dwarves were standing together, Dori leaning on Balin a little but looking much better. His hair was tidy and gleaming, and Dwalin wondered if Balin still had his jar of Elvish salve. "He'll be all right," Balin added, following his brother's gaze, "but it'll be easier for him to ride for awhile than walk."

"Her name's Skyfaxa," Dwalin yelled back. He went to the bank to get her, socks squishing inside his boots, and saw Nori's brief smile again as he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pictures of the ponies (photographs, credited adequately i hope!) on my tumblr.
> 
> many thanks to Thorinsmut for letting me use Shadowwalker's name!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> goblins to wargs to...

Dwalin boosted Dori onto Skyfaxa's back, and the rest of the company walked, carrying what little was left of their possessions. Kili kept his bow in his hands as if ready to loose an arrow at any moment, though Dwalin could not help but be reminded of the lad at six years old clutching his (formerly Fili's) green stuffed cat with the missing ear. Shadowwalker, unburdened and riderless, kept a little distance. Dwalin would have thought he'd run off, but from time to time he could be glimpsed among the trees, and when the company stopped for a drink at a creek, Nori and his pony briefly nuzzled one another.

Those whose skills enabled them -- Bifur, Bombur, the hobbit, Kili, Nori, and Dwalin himself -- found occasional bites to eat along the way, including wild strawberries and sorrel. But the wild land was forbidding, and the look on Thorin's face as well. That worried Dwalin more than anything. Thorin could have foraged; he had wandered and soldiered as many hard miles as Dwalin himself. But he stared straight ahead and ate nothing, not even cram. The hobbit began to complain to the wizard about how hungry he was, speaking in a way for all of them. Tharkun answered gently enough. All any of them could do was continue on.

They walked through the sunset and into the light of a waning moon. The path had long been lost, and they meekly followed Thorin, whose stone-sense (or possibly the wizard) remained fixed on Erebor. A broad slope of shattered boulders marked the edge of the Misty Mountains' foothills, and Kili and Fili raced down it laughing, with Ori close behind them. Nori helped Dori dismount, and everyone rather enjoyed the tumble down, except the hobbit, who was not made of stone and seemed terrified, though he wasn't at all hurt either. When they reached the trees at the bottom he renewed his complaints: he was exhausted and hungry and even his tough furry feet were battered. "A bit further," said Tharkun, answering all of them again.

They had reached a clearing in the woods when the first warg howled.

That got Thorin's attention. He halted and looked around, face wild as a nightmare. The hobbit cried out forlornly about wolves, but the dwarves knew what they heard. "Up into the trees quick!" called the wizard, and they all promptly did their best. But Bilbo could not climb into even the smallest, and from up in the branches with Balin, Dwalin could see the little creature hopping to and fro in terror.

"You've left the burglar behind again," said Nori, voice so mild it had to be sarcasm.  


"I can't be always carrying burglars on my back," grumbled Dori, "down tunnels and up trees! What do you think I am? A porter?" He was already clambering down. The hobbit could not even reach his outstretched hand, so Dori dropped to the ground, set the little fellow on his shoulders, and let him scramble up from there. Dori leapt back up just in time -- the first warg was at his heels and nipping at his cloak. Dori kicked it, and the beast yipped and fell back.

For awhile they seemed at an impasse. The wargs could not climb trees, and the orcs that accompanied them seemed reluctant to. Kili fired two arrows, and an impressive shot of Mahal-knew-what from Ori's sling hit an orc in the eye, unleashing a torrent of unholy screaming. Then the orcs set the trees on fire.

As a tactic, Dwalin had to admire it. As a victim, he was infuriated, clinging to the snapping, swaying branches, struggling for purchase and a way down to his enemies. As if in a dream, he saw the tree Thorin was in fall flat, and his kin and king walk along its broad trunk with his sword raised. He was facing the Pale Orc on its white warg, the one who had killed old king Thror. The trees moved like living things, and with a cold clear joy Dwalin set Grasper and Keeper into the thick branches above him, using them like pitons turn by turn, making his way back to the ground.

Thorin was there first, of course, never waiting for his allies, and Dwalin cried aloud as the warg took him in its mouth and threw him down like a toy. But no sword fell, and suddenly the hobbit was between Thorin and an orc, his small bright blade glowing blue and then blackened as he killed the enemy. Kili and Fili were next into battle, and Dwalin was beside them, only exchanging his axes for his heavier war-hammer as he engaged their foes.

There was battle, bright-edged and staccato. They were outnumbered, but Dwalin had no thought of winning or loss, only fighting. The hammer was an extension of his arm or his heart; it whirled, rose and fell, smashed bone and sent blood fountaining up towards the moon. Nothing could touch him, and he set himself between the evil and his fallen king and fought. 

Then a great creature grasped him, each horned claw thicker than a warg's leg. Dwalin's arms were pinned to his sides as he was swept up into the dizzying air. The fire and the enemy spun away, replaced by endless darkness and the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And Bilbo? He could not get into any tree, and was scuttling about from trunk to trunk, like a rabbit that has lost its hole and has a dog after it._  
>  _"You've left the burglar behind again}" said Nori to Dori looking down._  
>  _"I can't be always carrying burglars on my back," said Dori, "down tunnels and up trees! What do you think I am? A porter?"_  
>  (from jrrt "the hobbit", chapter 6, and yes, i've been waiting this long just for that exchange :)
> 
> attempting to mix exciting bits from the text, the movie, and my humble imagination.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more getting from here to there. also, mild immodesty.

The great claws held Dwalin gently, warm against the night air. Looking around, he saw dozens of impossibly huge birds with the hooked beaks of raptors silhouetted against the moonlight. Some others held their claws low, as if carrying prey, but Dwalin suspected they held other dwarves. A few others had riders on their backs -- Kili and Fili unmistakeable, and their excited hollering reached him through the wind of flight; another bore a tall spindly figure clinging to a hat, which had to be Tharkun. They flew on for what seemed to be hours. The sound of the wind and the wingbeats became soothing, and Dwalin slept.

He woke with the dawn, still aloft. He shifted and the claws around him adjusted, so that he was sitting up. They were near the back of the flock, and Dwalin tried to pick out the other members of the Company. Thorin hung prone beneath his eagle (who knew the creatures could grow so large?) and the heirs were almost lost beneath the neck-feathers of theirs, cuddled together and apparently asleep. Dori and the hobbit were still together, Dwalin thought, on eagleback with Bilbo in front, wrapped in those strong arms. He could not see Balin or Nori, and only prayed that they were safe. At least they were flying east.

Just as he was starting to wonder how far they were going to be taken, the eagles began to bank and circle around a tall, slant-topped rocky peak. It was not large enough for more than one or two eagles to land on at a time, but they left off their passengers there, dropping them gently or allowing them to dismount. Thorin fell unceremoniously on his back, and Dwalin's heart went to his throat. But Tharkun knelt beside the king a moment later, passing his hands across the bloodied face. By the time Dwalin had been let go and ran to them, Thorin was on his feet and yelling at their burglar.

Dwalin almost stepped between them -- Mister Baggins had done nothing to deserve that, and had in all hardships been a stalwart (if not particularly stoic) member of the Company -- but somehow then Thorin was scolding himself instead, and embracing the little hobbit like a brother. Bilbo was almost apologizing back, and the rest of the Company (Dwalin unconsciously took the roster, and everyone was there and upright) were cheering. Even the wizard smiled. Then Thorin suddenly stood up straighter, and said in a voice of deep reverence, "Erebor."

And so it was, the familiar shape small and distinct above the clouds on the horizon. Another cheer went up, even from the younger dwarves. Dwalin felt tears in his eyes, and let them slide unashamed. That was their heritage, their goal, clear and real before them in the morning light. No dream of any sort, but a _mountain_ : the most real and vivid thing in Middle-Earth.

A steep staircase, again with steps inconveniently large and fortuitously rocky, led down from their temporary eyrie. Dori carried Bilbo again, and the rest of them made their way easily, unladen as they were. Dwalin felt a stab of loss for Skyfaxa and even Shadowwalker, and hoped that they had somehow managed to escape the fire and the wargs and the orcs. Perhaps they would make themselves at home in the forest, or be a fortunate encounter for some other travelers.

At the bottom of the stairs, a clear path led to a river and across broad stones in a ford. The Company took this time to eat -- Dwalin shared out his ration of cram, and Nori somehow produced dried fruit and nuts and some kind of Elvish cram (lighter texture, faint scent of vanilla) in astonishing quantities. That made Dwalin grin: supplier at need, indeed.

As everyone's baggage had also been lost (Dwalin was grateful for his habit of carrying extra socks), they took the rest of the morning to wash smoke and blood out of the things they had. Only Tharkun, no more grey than usual (fire-wizard that he was), hunched under his hat on the bank. He had urgent business far away, he said, and had never intended to escort the company this far east in the first place. This seemed awkward and unfortunate, and the dwarves variously asked, bribed, teased, cajoled, and outright begged him to stay with them. But he was steadfast in his refusal (and said he deserved the bribes regardless). He would escort them to a person he knew, who hated orcs and would protect and perhaps resupply them, and that was all they would have.

The summer sun shone bright and warm, and although Dwalin made no particular attempt to show off himself, he did as usual enjoy the sight of his fellows splashing in the river. Kili was putting on a bit of muscle, and Bifur's unbraided hair curled black and white like the finest patterned marble. Dwalin went to help Bofur with its mass, and was amused and unsurprised to find Ori joining them a few minutes later. He had the same long, clever fingers that Nori did, and whatever he was signing onto Bifur's shoulder beneath the shroud of hair made the old warrior sing out his beautiful laugh. Dwalin laughed too, on the strength of it. Bofur grinned. Ori blushed, which made Bifur laugh again, very gently.

Nori remained with Dori and Bilbo, and as usual Nori and Bilbo knelt in the water and soaped right through their smalls. (Dwalin was briefly envious of the soap, as his own ablutions had relied on scrubbing with river-bottom sand.) Nori caught his eye briefly and without change of expression. But a moment later, he rinsed off and went ashore, picked up his bundled belongings and started walking downriver. As soon as he was out of sight, Dwalin's curiosity got the best of him, and he let the current help him drift along after.

Just past a bend, Nori knelt on the sandy bank, industriously wringing the length of his linens dry. When he saw Dwalin he offered one of his sharp smiles, and stood up slowly. He spun in a slow circle, cloth trailing from one hand like a dancer's ribbon. There was no particular art or show to it, only Nori's usual play between perfect stillness and undulant fluidity, the gleam of his pale skin, the slight trailing movement of his braids. He smiled again, looking down now. Then he spread the wet length on the grass to dry, searched his vest pockets to find another, and began to get dressed.

Dwalin couldn't breathe, let alone move. No elaborate seduction had ever struck him as hard as that one turn, even as its performer sat quietly putting on socks. Neither of them spoke until Nori was fully dressed, when the thief met Dwalin's gaze and said calmly, "As you liked, then," and began to walk back along the shore.

Dwalin stared after him. Mahal's apron was fully retracted, and desire surged through his whole body, the hot-metal essence of Nori filling his senses even as its source disappeared around the river bend. It took a long while before Dwalin felt comfortable enough to return to his fellows without even a length of cloth to shield his body's display of his feelings to every eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin can sleep through anything. But he is sometimes at the mercy of others of his bodily processes ;)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stone-sense and Thorin. (Oh yeah, that guy.)

By the time Dwalin rejoined the Company, everyone else was more or less clean and dry, packed, and ready to leave. Trying not to seem embarrassed, he climbed out of the water, ostentatiously picking and eating some strawberries that were not quite ripe. He tried not to look at Nori, but the molten-metal taste was sharper than ever, and -- he could not even tell if he had seen it or sensed it like his stone-sense -- so was Nori's smile.

Fortunately, Dwalin's wordless looming seemed to silence those most likely to tease (Gloin, Bifur, possibly Kili) and he was able to dress and pack himself without worse than a crinkling around his older brother's eyes. He made particularly sure to stay out of Dori's way. They crossed the stone ford with Tharkun in the lead while Dori brought up the rear with Bilbo on his shoulder. Dwalin walked with Thorin, a reassuringly well-known quantity.

By late afternoon they were walking through fields of clover, surrounded by buzzing bees as long as Dwalin's thumb. Tharkun warned them not to disturb the insects, as they belonged to their mysterious intended host. So they walked quietly, sticking to the path, until they came to a tall and ancient oak with branches low enough to climb. Kili and Fili went up to have a look around.

They descended quickly and atypically quiet. Kili looked pale, and Fili said tersely, "Orcs, with wargs, behind us. I'd give it an hour, if they keep up their pace."

Tharkun's brow became, if possible, more wrinkled than ever. "An hour," he said, then went on briskly, "All right. You had better wait here, and when I call or whistle begin to come after me -- you will see the way I go -- but only in pairs, mind, about five minutes between each pair of you. Bombur is fattest and will do for two, he had better come alone and last. Come on Mr. Baggins! There is a gate somewhere round this way." And with that he went off along the hedge, taking Bilbo with him.

The dwarves huddled together under the tree, all of them unnerved. Thorin said he would go first, and Dori with him, in case the wizard's friend was inhospitable and Bilbo needed rescuing again. Dori insisted that his little brothers be next, and to Dwalin's surprise Nori said clearly, "And Dwalin after us." Nobody argued, fortunately, and the rest was settled quickly: Balin with his brother, then the heirs, Oin and Gloin, and Bifur last with his family under his protection. (They all agreed that it was incredibly insulting to count Bombur for two, and he belonged with his cousin and brother. Nobody mentioned their arrival at Bag End, which the wizard had wanted to organize in the same way; their execution had been graceless but it worked out well enough.)

Fili and Kili went back up the tree. The path ahead led to a great thorny hedge surrounding several buildings and gardens, and Tharkun and Bilbo were on a porch outside the largest, apparently talking with a black-haired man taller than the wizard himself. "And three times as broad as Dori," Kili added, possibly to comfort Bombur. Then Nori and Ori went, and Balin counted what seemed like much longer than five minutes before he and Dwalin followed.

The wizard was story-telling with the hobbit at his side, and the huge man listened with lowered brows. He glared at Balin and Dwalin and cut off their polite introduction, so they moved off and made themselves scarce. Behind the porch was a byre, apparently part of the main structure, which seemed to be rather more barn and stable and kennels than a place a person might live. There were animals everywhere, long-bodied dogs that walked on their hind legs while carrying things in their forepaws, and a white sheep tending a cookfire. There was a room with a loom in it, where they found Thorin trying out a chair. Balin tried to hide a chuckle, and Dwalin was also irresistibly reminded of a certain small prince climbing into his grandfather's throne. Thorin regarded them haughtily for a moment, then slipped down, and the three of them continued to explore.

They settled in a buttery, cool and sheltered by its stone construction and headily scented with casks of mead and ale. Dwalin wished Nori were with them, if only because he'd be certain to tap one. A moment later, he found he was acutely aware of Nori again -- molten-metal, sharp as copper -- quite nearby, the same stone underfoot. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, and the sensation retreated to a kind of taste in the back of his throat. It was not unpleasant, but it was certainly intrusive, and Dwalin groaned.

"Are you ailing, brother?" asked Balin solicitously, and Thorin tipped his head in concern.

Dwalin shook his head. "It's... I used the stone-sense to find Nori in the goblins' caves. Since then... it comes on me, sometimes."

Balin tried to hide another chuckle, and to Dwalin's surprise, Thorin glared at the elder. "I understand perfectly," said Thorin, and switched to Khuzdul. "I feel you all. It can be overwhelming." He pushed his hair back and met Dwalin's eyes. "I have Fili and Kili almost all the time. They're like a pair of earthquakes." He lay a hand on Dwalin's forearm, behind the knuckledusters. "And you, of course. The biggest, roughest diamond in the mountain, tinted blue."

Balin's face had gone grave. "It is a gift," he said gently, "of kings. I did not know you bore it, little brother."

"I didn't either," said Dwalin, almost irritated, as if they had kept a secret from him. "I never did that before." Though as he sat on stone with his family, he thought perhaps he had. "Except maybe you," he said at last to Thorin. "Like a mass of granite with a vein of gold." It was quite dark in the buttery, but his sense of Thorin was perfectly clear, even if the metaphor did not do his perception justice.

"What does Nori seem like to you?" asked Thorin, and Dwalin, who had spent most of his life above-ground and worked only iron and steel, searched for words. _Molten_ , he tried. _Ductile. Conductive. Verdegris and copper salts...._ He struggled with the Khuzdul, but his Westron offered no adequate lexicon at all.

Thorin chuckled. "To me he is all mineral, crystal points and sheared edges, smoky quartz." His voice became thoughtful, reflective. "The hobbit... at first he was like nothing to me, like an elf or a wizard, not a dwarf. Then when the warg held me and he came running, I did see him. Bright as gold, trailing away like the end of a vein." He took a deep breath with a hitch in it. "I thought he would be the last thing I saw outside of Mahal's Halls."

Dwalin put his other hand atop Thorin's, and Balin embraced them both; they had all shared that thought. Then Dwalin sat up with a start as Nori poked his head around the door. "Come on, you lot," he said. "Tharkun's done talking, and Beorn will be feeding us dinner. The orcs made it to the bee-pastures and got soundly stung for their trouble. We'll have a quiet night if we don't piss off the skin-changer." He turned away and left. Dwalin hugged his brother and his cousin hard, shuddering, and they went out into the evening light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the good people of tumblr who yakked with me about canon conflict and compliance for this chapter. *loves you all*
> 
> gandalf's appalling comment wrt bombur is straight from the text. i also found his two-by-two method fairly ridiculous, and much enjoyed its failure at bag end in the movie :)
> 
> i promise we'll get back to nori's conversation soon! i just wanted to poke around the stone-sense some more. y'all's kind indulgence is as usual craved....


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safety? Smut at least! At Beorn's.

They ate well in Beorn's hall, though there was no more meat than there had been in Rivendell. Small ponies pushed wooden slabs together to make dwarf- and hobbit-sized tables and chairs, and white sheep supplied them hearty breads and rich cheeses and no shortage of good dark ale.

And yet their host seemed lonely among his clever beasts and the Company. The vast buildings held a sense of abandonment despite cheery red candles and firelight. There were far too many unused rooms, far more space than even such an enormous personage could require. At first Beorn spoke little, but after Gloin recounted their battle with the goblins he went on at length about fighting orcs. Dwalin might have found that very interesting if Beorn's primary tactic had not been to turn into a bear. (Dwalin, who had taught many dwarves how to fight, felt a rush of sympathy for his students: on their first day, did they wonder if he expected them to "turn into Dwalin"?) As his animal servants continued to refill his bowl of mead, though, other aspects of Beorn's story came clear: orcs had attacked and enslaved his people, and they were all dead. Only Beorn and his animals remained.

The wizard put his long hand on the skin-changer's arm. Beorn's much larger hand went over it, and the skin-changer silently wept. Then abruptly he rose to his great height, and said, "Stay here, within my walls, and on no account pass through the thorn-hedge. There will be no safety outside tonight! I will see you again." With that he strode straight-backed to the door and went out, and the latch smacked shut behind him.

"Well," said Tharkun into the silence. "I am sure he is as good as his word, and we shall be quite safe here." The dogs were milling around, smiling earnestly into everyone's faces, offering pots of chamomile tea. Dori beamed, so Dwalin actually tried the stuff. By the time he'd finished his cup, he felt not only tired (when had he last not been tired?) but genuinely sleepy. A fluffy white cat nudged his boot, and he followed it to the side of the hall, where actual beds had been made up with straw mattresses and wooly blankets. He didn't remember his head hitting the pillow.

But when he woke, he was as abruptly alert as he had ever been going into battle. He was not alone: a small form covered in soft, shabby velvet lay against his side, silent and still. The room was dark and the only sounds were familiar Dwarvish snores. His mind was aflame with red-gold light, heat that had nothing to do with wooly blankets, and a movement as invisible and unstoppable as the flow of blood in his own veins. Years of discipline enabled him to remain unmoving, and he managed to keep his voice to a whisper: "Nori."

"Yeah.... is this all right?" The thief's voice was less than a whisper, only a breath across Dwalin's bare arm.

"Aye." Dwalin shifted slightly, trying to make out Nori's face in the dark. He couldn't really, but trying helped ground him in his usual senses. No wonder Thorin was so touchy all the time. He lifted a hand and Nori's unbraided beard curled softly around it. He let his fingers fall through, resisting the temptation to pull. "Tell me why?"

Nori didn't answer immediately, and Dwalin waited. He let himself enjoy the quiet, his full belly, the soft mattress, the presence of the dwarf beside him. After a few breaths, he ran his fingers through Nori's beard again, and repeated, "Tell me."

"I... I don't feel safe here. I can't stand being locked up," said Nori in a rush. "You said you --"

Dwalin had heard enough. "Aye," he said again. He sat up, taking Nori with him, enfolding the smaller dwarf in the Beorn-sized blanket. He almost tripped over his boots, but got Grasper secure and easy in his hand. The buttery might do, he thought. It was small enough to feel defensible, and the stone construction would be comforting. He moved as quietly as he could from the row of beds to the hall, where Tharkun sat blowing smoke-rings, and out into the courtyard. The little building sat on the far side of the kitchens, and had only one door. Dwalin lifted the latch and carried Nori inside, setting him down gently behind a row of barrels. Then he turned and latched the door again behind them, and sat down between Nori and the door, cradling his axe. "This better?"

Nori gasped aloud with laughter. "Yes, actually," he said. "I don't even know why, since it's still the same about the thorn-hedge, eh? But yes anyway. Thank you."

"Dwarves like stone," said Dwalin. "Thieves like hidey-holes. You like barrels and barrels of mead." He leaned back against the door, sleepy again, more than a little pleased with himself. He added lazily, "You like Dwalin son of Fundin and his axe at your service."

"Aye," said Nori slowly, and Dwalin wondered, with amusement, if he were being mocked. Nori went on, "Do you want the blanket? I've got my clothes...."

"Course you do," said Dwalin, wondering if he were mocking back. "But only if you'll share. Door's my best point of defense. Behind the barrels there's more chance to hide."

Nori was silent again, and Dwalin realized he must still be at least a little afraid after all. But his voice was steady as he replied, "Come here, Dwalin son of Fundin with your axe."

Dwalin complied. He set Grasper at the ready, handle-up and leaned on a barrel, and lowered himself to the cool stone. He pushed himself under the blanket and wrapped himself around Nori, holding him just a little hard, careful to keep his face away from the danger of hairpins while allowing his fingers to stroke through that curling beard. When Nori's back untensed a little, molding to the shape of Dwalin's chest, he pressed his fingertips down the sides of Nori's neck, slipping his thumbs carefully beneath the braid at his nape. Dwalin said softly, "Think you'd feel safer with your skin on mine."

Nori huffed. "You think so," more like an accusation than a question.

Dwalin considered it, caressing slow lines down Nori's neck. Yes, their escape routes were limited by Beorn's edict, but Dwalin believed they were most likely well-protected within that limit. The buttery was remote and their presence there unknown, and the barrels offered an additional level of protection as well. They were armed, and had trusted allies nearby. "I do," he murmured low, letting Nori feel his voice as much as hear it. "I'm your master of defense, I'm your guardsman. I'm --" he didn't know what to say, somehow not _your shield-brother_ , though they'd fought for each other's lives already "-- I'm at your service, Nori." He breathed deep, taking in both Nori's oiled-hair scent and the haunting hot-metal tang. "Let me touch you."

Nori shifted, turning over in Dwalin's embrace, so that they lay face-to-face. He did not respond aloud, only started touching Dwalin himself, long hands pressing slowly across Dwalin's broad bare chest, out to his sides, down his flanks. Dwalin murmured; this was not what he had suggested, and he liked it far too much -- each dextrous finger teasing the nerves and knots beneath it, the sense of hot metal dripping upon him -- to pretend he could keep up any defense. So with both great pleasure and a tinge of regret, he pushed away the blanket, took both Nori's gauntlets in one hand, and rolled the thief onto his back. "Let me," he said, feeling his own voice at the back of his throat. He pressed Nori's arms into the stone above his head and waited, then felt the quick nod against his forearm, and sighed with relief and joy.

He knelt over Nori, straddling the thief's narrow hips, and used his free hand to open the long vest, part the jacket underneath it, and undo the ties of his shirt. Spreading the garments, he shifted back a little, and awkwardly -- how he hated his thick, clumsy fingers -- went to work at Nori's belt, which had an irritating double-pronged clasp. Nori pushed up with his hands, possibly trying to help, but Dwalin held him still. If his own hard hammer could wait, so could Nori. Eventually the belt was unbuckled, and the lacings on the trousers loosed. Dwalin pushed them down to Nori's knees, then off all the way -- at least the thief had been considerate enough not to wear boots into his bed. "Smalls too, lad," he said gruffly. He would have left them on, if Nori's attitude had happened to swing back. But the thief nodded again, and he lifted his hips for Dwalin to unwind the linen.

If Dwalin could have reached, he might have taken Nori's standing stiletto in his mouth. But that would have required releasing his gauntleted arms, and he did not want to do that quite yet. Instead, he slowly lowered his body, letting his hard jeweled hammer thrust and slide against Nori's belly. Nori gasped and writhed, and if Dwalin had not been an old soldier and set to his tactics, he would have buried his face in that beard and bitten that twisting neck. As it was he took a deep breath and settled himself solidly atop the smaller dwarf, still keeping some of his weight on his own free hand and knees. "There, Nori, little one," he murmured. "It's all right, it's all good. You're safe. I've got you."

There was a moment of held-breath stillness, then Nori bit hard on Dwalin's neck and flailed. If he had not already seen Nori fight with Fili and Kili, Dwalin would have been surprised at his strength and violence. As it was he got a good kick in on one of Dwalin's shins before Dwalin got his legs securely pinned beneath his own. "I've got you," said Dwalin again, voice even softer, and gently kissed his shoulder. "You're safe, Nori. You're safe." Nori's jaw clamped convulsively, hot tongue pressing the skin between his teeth, and it took all Dwalin's control not to roar and thrust down on him. "I've got you," he repeated, as much for his own benefit as Nori's. "Got you safe."

Slowly, fractionally, Nori relaxed. His teeth loosened their grip, and he kissed Dwalin almost apologetically. "All right, good lad," said Dwalin, a little louder now, approving. When he heard Nori start to breathe evenly again, he risked moving, sliding his body up a fraction of an inch. The space between them was slippery with sweat, and Dwalin suspected his cock was starting to leak. He cursed himself for not bringing any slick -- all he had was his axe and the blanket, and butter was not what was kept in a buttery. He thrust again, experimentally. This time Nori arched up and thrust back, his head lolling back between his gauntlets, his cock stuttering over Dwalin's inlaid jewels. "That's better, lad, that's right," said Dwalin encouragingly. Nori thrust again, and Dwalin moved back enough to slide his free hand between them, gripping their cocks together. Nori's felt so smooth and velvety as Dwalin stroked it that for a moment he was deliriously jealous of it, and pulled harder. He said again "I've got you" as the thief keened high and gasped, Dwalin buried his face in Nori's beard, his voice a mindless chant now as he pulled himself to orgasm, his own calloused hand an irresistible contrast to Nori's sleek hard skin. He spread the hot spill along Nori's cock, rubbing it into the slit and the tender space just beneath it until Nori cried out again and followed.

Dwalin moved slowly then, taking his weight onto his knees, gently releasing Nori's wrists. He nudged the smaller dwarf onto one side and wrapped himself around him again, cradling Nori's velvet-coated back against his sweaty chest. "You're safe," he whispered finally. "You don't need to escape from anything. It's all right, you're safe here with me."

They lay still together for awhile, and a nightjar rattled its song outside. Dwalin's cock softened as his lust dimmed to warm embers that filled him from his center to his fingertips, and Mahal's apron fell in its gentle curtain across his belly. After awhile Nori sighed and sat up. He unbuckled his gauntlets and took off his layered shirts, then lay back against Dwalin with the bundle in his arms. "Is this all right?" he asked again, even more tentatively than he had in Dwalin's bed.

Dwalin hugged him tight. "This is wonderful. I've got you, Nori." He wondered at himself, that he found that so satisfying to say. "Go to sleep." He pulled the blanket over them and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I will write a fic that is tangentially related to this chapter, in which Gandalf helps to restore the Beornings, who will be of such vital military importance in LOTR. (I did have a draft started, but I got distracted with alla this and AO3 ate it!)
> 
> In my head, dwarves are really quite comfortable sleeping on stone. Underground it can be entirely sufficient; aboveground a blanket or somesuch helps. The use of pillows and mattresses and such is a cultural appropriation from Men, and plenty of dwarves still like to sleep with at least a bit of jewelry on, for the peaceful feeling of the stuff of earth against their skin.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Dwalin's head for a bit.

Dwalin woke up alone under the blanket. Grasper still leaned on a barrel in front of him, with Keeper poised beside it now. His boots were beside them, along with a blueberry muffin, an enormous mug of cooled-off tea, and some clothes. On inspection, he was less than surprised that his warg-skin and his smalls were not there.

 _I've got you,_ he repeated to himself. He remembered the weight of the dossier in the Guard of Ered Luin: Nori, sometimes called Nokkvi, possibly also Foxtail, the Lock-pick, and the Purple Hood. Suspected in over four hundred counts of simple theft, two hundred of larceny, threescore accusations of shoplifting, half a dozen suspicious deaths. Once definitely guilty of holding stolen goods, but knowledge and intent could not be proven, so the charge was dropped. That was the only time Nori had gone to trial. In sixty years, he'd spent less than a dozen nights in jail.

No wonder that, in his passions, Dwalin had crowed over getting his thief. And how shameful, when said thief was working for his cause and under his protection. Nori had asked him for respite from fear at losing his freedom. _I'm your guardsman._ He shook his head. He'd never minded working for the Guard; in a society of dwarves, they were necessary to keep the peace. But he'd eaten Nori's stolen food, ridden his quite-likely-stolen pony, and had his life preserved by that quick knife. Did he need to get off on a grudge against a young lad without training or connections, whose career had begun with looting his parent's murderers, who supported his little brother while still a child himself?

He should have adopted Nori sixty years ago, not arrested him.

But oh, Mahal, how he had gotten off on it. _I've got you._ Wrapped in the huge wooly blanket, smelling of sex and hair-oil, he wanted to have Nori again. Bare, beneath him, pinned down and taking his weight. Touching him back, oh, given a chance, who knew what Nori's fingers could do or undo? And his hard smooth cock like silk over stone, his undone curling beard, that unmistakeable hot-metal tang....

As Nori had said, he had grown up.

Dwalin ate the muffin and drank the tea, which was thick with cream and honey. Nori had come to him, and stayed with him as well. _You're safe,_ Dwalin thought. He'd meant that too, with all his heart and all his strength; he'd walked into a goblin-cave swinging to make it true. Though in Beorn's halls he wasn't contributing much, at least he'd tried to make Nori _feel_ safe. Perhaps that was all he could do.

He got dressed -- it was a summer's day warm enough without a warg-skin, and chafing trousers were a pretty harmless prank. Nori could have abandoned him with the blanket and one axe. Or, being Nori, with neither. Dwalin needed a bath anyway, and perhaps Beorn's generosity would extend to some cloth for the Company in general, to replenish the supplies they had lost. He was no tailor, but he could stitch up another set of smalls. Maybe make some for Nori, too, while he was at it. He set his axes on his back and unlatched the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for lack of action of any sort in this chapter! I couldn't quite integrate it with the smut in the last one, but I think it's worth spelling out some of Dwalin's thoughts. Remember he recruited Nori, and has known him for a very long time. (Not that he really could have adopted him sixty years ago; they aren't that far apart in age. Balin could have, though :)
> 
> As long as I'm not saying much else here, let me now note a couple things that Dwalin has *not* bothered to find noteworthy:
> 
> . what Nori presents as when naked (he's obviously pleased, but not shocked)  
> . the structural dynamics of sex that they've been having so far
> 
> This is still a meditation on gender. Just sayin' because I am certain it is non-obvious :) And that is intentional: at this point I'm talking about male being an unmarked case among Men, and among us. More later. 
> 
> (No, it is not necessary to dwell on gender issues to read or (hopefully!) enjoy this fic! Just putting this down because it's in my authorial head :)


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward conversation is awkward. If it is also incomprehensible, please let me know; this was hard for me to write! Contains further information on Dwarvish biology, this time with some bits about reproduction and morphological differences from Men. Also including lunch, lost love, and underwear.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> . violence, affection, and sexual interactions across Free Peoples
> 
> . consensual sexual exploration between two young adolescents
> 
> . misgendering by having only an entirely inappropriate system of gender 
> 
> . unflattering commentary on non-Dwarvish physiologies
> 
> . mention of a naked and mutilated corpse
> 
> . insulting terminology for and stereotypes about bodily variation
> 
> Tags have been updated to suit.

Dwalin was not the only member of the Company taking advantage of Beorn's vast stores. Dori had found closets full of old clothes -- Men's work clearly, and huge. He had Ori, Kili, and Fili in various states of undress and tailoring, a mouthful of pins, and a bevy of tail-wagging dogs apparently trying to help. Balin was helping too, industriously hemming up a pair of pants.

Some of the fabrics were quite fine, and when Dwalin saw a green-and-gold velvet, he knew it was meant to be Nori's -- even if Dori was ruthlessly cutting it from a huge Man's shirt to make a vest for Fili. Smalls didn't take much cloth, at least not in Nori's size, still vivid in Dwalin's hands. He picked through the scraps and took some prosaic undyed cotton as well, and a pair of cut-off silken sleeves that would work for longjohns when the weather turned cold again.

Feeling a bit perverse, he returned to the buttery to sew. He still had the needles and thread that he kept in his pockets, and didn't need help from dogs or sheep or goodness-knew-what. Nor was he ready to have the rest of the Company asking why he was making undergarments for one of their number. His warg-skin had been beside his abandoned bed, but Dwalin's smalls were nowhere to be found. He did not have extras in his pockets, either, and his trousers were rough. Just as well they were not traveling today. Beorn had not reappeared.

The cotton set was finished and the long silk mostly (Dwalin thought he might get a short version or possibly socks off the ends, but wanted to make sure they were long enough in the leg before he cut) when the door was unlatched. Nori slipped in with a covered basket in his hands. "Thought I might find you here."

Dwalin finished picking the seam from the velvet, looked up, and smiled. "Good of you to look," he said, and Nori smiled back. "Did you bring lunch?"

"Bilbo said elevenses, but close enough." The basket smelled of warm pastry, and Nori had also brought two huge mugs and a tap. He looked over the barrels and hummed. "Cider, ale, mead, or wine?"

"Ale for now," said Dwalin, "wine with dinner. Tea at tea-time. We should all get fat as Bombur while we can." He thought of Kili's thinness, veered away from the image of the lad being fussed over by Dori. "Here," he said abruptly, thrusting the velvet at Nori. "Wrap it like your usual."

"What?"

"Smallclothes. Figured if you had more of your own, you might stop depriving me of mine." The ale overflowed the mug and Nori hastily closed the tap. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or not, so Dwalin did. "Which I would like back, thief."

"It's not -- I meant --" The thief actually blushed, and Dwalin laughed again.

"Fire's hot, water's wet, and Nori steals. It's why you're here." He stroked the fine cloth. "Will you take this as a gift, or must I wear it myself so you can lift it? I'm not sure it's long enough for me to wrap, and if I stitch it for me it won't fit you."

Nori sat down abruptly, putting the mugs and the basket between them. His face was still bright red. "You deserved that," he said severely. "Mocking me because I'm not a show-off like you."

"Why aren't you?" Dwalin countered. "Not like me, I mean like everyone in the Company except Ori and you." Nori didn't answer, and Dwalin sighed. "Never mind. Not my business, as I said. If you don't feel safe, don't tell me." He put the velvet beside the basket, and picked up a mug. "Thanks for bringing food."

"Welcome." Nori watched as Dwalin drank and opened the basket. The pastry was layered with cheese and something green that smelled of nourishing iron, and there were blueberries as well. Dwalin ate a few bites, silently watching Nori back, until the thief sighed too. "I did feel safe," he said, very quietly. "I mostly do now, with you."

"Good." Dwalin spoke with force, he was that relieved. But he had to add, "I'm sorry for what I said. About having got you." It was his turn to blush now.

"I didn't mind that. Well, the first time, I did. But as you kept saying it.... can you imagine something you've been afraid of all your life? And then it happens, and it's terrifying. But then somehow it's okay, you're.... well. Like we were. I liked it." His voice had gone even softer, and Dwalin felt his insides twist into a strange elation.

"Good and better." Dwalin heard his own voice thickened, and opened his arms. "Sit with me?"

For a moment Nori hesitated, then moved with his usual grace and settled beside the larger dwarf. Dwalin smiled, pulled Nori close, and fed him berries and bits of pastry with his fingers. Nori nipped him on the thumb, and Dwalin leaned down to kiss a drop of juice from Nori's beard. They gazed into each others' eyes, and when Nori looked away, he pressed himself against Dwalin's side and asked, "Have you ever seen a naked Man?"

"Yes," said Dwalin, wondering why that should matter. "They don't have any apron, just their cocks out all the time. You'd think even smallclothes would chafe." He knew some found that erotic, but to Dwalin it just looked painful, a poor design.

"What about a woman?"

"No. Not such as I could see much anyway. They keep women hidden away. You hardly ever see any on the road, let alone in Dwarvish cities. Their armies are all male, as far as I've been able to tell." He tried to remember the woman. She had been murdered and mutilated and stripped of her clothes, and her body dumped near Thorin's Halls. It was an ugly business for the Guard, but she had never been identified and the crime remained unsolved.

"I have." Nori settled in closer and let Dwalin wrap an arm around him, but he was looking off towards the door. "Our fourth winter out of Erebor. We settled in a town of Men north of Mirkwood, called Ganford, and Dori got a job helping a tinker on his rounds. The tinker's brother was a smith, and Ori and I stayed at their house while Dori did his rounds." His smile appeared, quick and narrow. "I learned locksmithing that year. Lock picking comes along for free.

"The smith had a wife and a daughter and two little sons. The girl's name was Eada, and she was fourteen -- a little child if she'd been a dwarf, but getting somewhere towards grown for a Man. I was twenty-four, and she seemed rather older than me, to me.

"Eada and Ori and I shared a room behind the forge. It had been Eada's alone before we came, and we paid our rent to her out of Dori's wages. The rest of the family had another room past their kitchen, but Eada had built hers with her own two hands, and was very proud of it. It was a good room, heated where it shared a chimney with the forge-fire, and it had a window she'd filled with layers of white shells from the river, to let in the light. She had a big straw bed that she shared with Ori and me, and a red leather apron that she wore in the forge.

"At first I was very shy of her. She was tall -- not like Beorn is tall, but taller than you, I think. Long-shanked, thin bones, but good hard muscles from helping with the forging all her life. We fixed an axle first, I remember, then she taught me to make hinges, and we spent months working on locks. She had long, strong fingers, a lot of patience, and a kind laugh, and before long I loved her. She let me braid her hair, golden like Fili's.

"Dori had warned me not to talk about Erebor, or our family. We were just _dwarfs_ to them, small odd-shaped Men, and everyone assumed we were feeble-minded unless we showed them otherwise. Men don't nurse their brothers -- only women nurse the babes they bear themselves. So we let Eada think I was a woman and Ori was my daughter, and it was very strange. I hated lying to her, but Dori said it was easier not to argue or explain, and we were afraid after what happened to Baba." His breath hitched and Dwalin squeezed him. Nori took a sip of ale and went on.

"She and Ori and I shared a bed, as I said. Dori slept on the floor by the forge when he was there, which wasn't very often. When it was cold out especially we'd cuddle, and I loved that. She was big and warm and soft and strong, and she -- she made me feel safe. She loved me and Ori too, she said so.

"Men's women have something like Mahal's apron, with a tiny hammer and forge behind it, not so different from us really. She thought mine was strange, because it was large and moved, though at that age my hammer was also tiny and I had hardly any more pelt than she did. They're not entirely bald, you know." He giggled nervously. "As you can guess, we touched each other. I thought she was beautiful and she thought I was deformed. But we loved each other, and the touching was very sweet. She thought I was much more mature than she, because of Ori and the nursing, but she was wrong. She asked a lot of questions that I wouldn't answer, and I felt terrible about it, though she never got angry with me.

"When spring came, Dori wanted to leave, and for once I didn't. I wanted to stay with Eada and be a locksmith. Her father said I had excellent hands, and if we stayed he'd take me as a proper apprentice and I could learn to make clockwork as well. He said I'd need a good living, as nobody would marry me with my deformities and my daughter.

"But you know how Dori is. Dulcet and immovable. On May Day I danced with Eada and the other women round the pole, with Ori on my hip, and I'd never been happier. Two days later Dori took us west again. That was the first time I ran away.

"Of course I took Ori -- Dori's milk had mostly dried up while he'd been on the road with the tinker. But Dori knew where I'd go, and found us less than halfway back to the town. Dori said we were brothers and dwarves and must stick together and look for more of our own kind, and that he loved us more than anything in the world. I told him I loved Eada and she loved Ori and me, which was true, and he said she didn't understand anything about us, which was also true. I was furious with him and he thought I was a rotten little shit.

"That night, lying out in our cloaks under the stars, I tried to reason with Dori, explain why I wanted that life, and to be with Eada. He didn't argue with that, just asked me what we had done, how I felt, and I told him everything.

"And when I told him about her cunt -- she didn't say _forge_ and neither did I -- and mine, and how we would be wet together, and how she shed blood there and once I had also -- he started crying. He said I'd kindled, and of course I had no idea what that meant. But he was thinking maybe someday I might bear his sister-sons, and with that in mind he'd love me no matter what." Nori sighed, gustily. "I haven't kindled since, and I'm not even sure I really did then, or if it was something else. But of course Dori's never given up on the idea. He hates so much about me, but he'll never give up on family, and never on the hope of having more family some day." His voice held no rancor.

"Anyway the next day we headed west again, like Dori wanted. In the next town we got a room in a boarding-house. They had separate washing rooms for men and women, and Dori with his beard used the men's, and I with my nurseling the women's. We lasted three days before a Man saw Dori's apron and we had to fight, and then we had to run. After that Dori never allowed us to sleep or bathe with Men nearby. We could never be seen unclothed. I was so lonely after the winter with Eada, and miserable. The only thing that made me happy was Ori, who was learning to talk and read and write all at the same time. He was brilliant already and probably the only reason I didn't run off again or go mad. Dori said the only way Ori could grow up properly would be if we could live again among dwarves.

"When we got to Thorin's Halls, it was a homecoming for him. But not for me. I hardly remembered people who looked like us, and I didn't look much like anyone either. People stared. Men dismissed us, but dwarves were scandalized. Dori wanted us to be respectable again, as our family had been in Erebor. But I wasn't respectable, I just wasn't. I was a thief already, and pretty good with my lock-picks, and then there was my body. We had only the public baths, and I became afraid to be seen there, with my beardless cheeks and swollen paps and kindled forge -- I didn't know if that was something you could see or not, but I knew it had never happened to Dori, and I felt very strange about myself." He stopped and took a long breath, gave Dwalin a level look, then turned back towards the door.

"Men practice modesty. What they mean is to minimize your body -- its unspoken messages -- by covering yourself. They divide themselves into men and women and it's women's responsibility to be covered, and if they don't, whatever they get they're said to deserve. I had lived as a woman with Eada, and bearded dwarves looked like men to me. So I kept my modesty out of, I don't know, fear or thinking it was right for who I am. I still don't like to be naked, even among dwarves, though I realize nobody cares. I think Ori does it just to be like me, and Bilbo Baggins because hobbits are rather like Men.

"The worst of it was." Nori stopped there and turned away entirely, his head curled down under Dwalin's arm, and drew his knees to his chest before he spoke again. "After I had grown up, on one of my travels from Ered Luin, I went back to Ganford. I asked after Eada -- I'd missed her all those years. And she'd grown up too, and married and had children and grandchildren and died an old lady in her bed. I'd never even visited her, and I didn't feel much older than how I remembered her. How I'd loved her. But she was dead."

At least I'm not crying this time, thought Dwalin, and at least he isn't drunk. He gave Nori what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, then reached for his morning's needlework. "Here," he said, voice rougher than he liked. "I did mean this velvet for you. It's beautiful colors for you, and soft like your vest. And look, this is smalls like we make in the army, sewn up smooth. Cotton's coolest for summer. These are silk, they'll cover you from Mahal's apron to your ankles, very light and warm in winter, though they might be too long...." He ran out of words as Nori twisted back, looking up with a smile more like a needle than a knife.

"Thought you wanted me bare?" Nori's voice was arch, and Dwalin groaned.

"That too, lad, but only as you want it yourself. You've demonstrated that one wants the option." Nori laughed, reaching inside his own vest. He took out Dwalin's smalls and dropped them in his lap, then climbed onto Dwalin's legs himself, draping his arms around the big dwarf's neck.

"I liked you bare, too," Nori said low. "When I came to you and you were asleep. Solid as a mountain, hot as a banked forge, snoring like water over smooth stones in a brook. The pelt on your arms as soft as a cat. And then you woke up...." He tipped his head, took Dwalin's lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it, not exactly like a kiss. Dwalin groaned again, drew Nori to his chest, and lay them down among the sewing on the buttery's stone floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW WITH GORGEOUS ART OF EADA AND NORI BY BLUE_SPARKLE!!!
> 
> *ADORES* (and btw, sparkle does commissions; go hire her! :)
> 
> back to the original notes:
> 
> In my head, this kind of sewing skill is the sort of thing you learn in the Dwarvish army on a campaign that's gone on a lot longer than you expected (read: the War of Dwarves and Orcs). 
> 
> The lunch pastry is spanakopita, because dang that stuff is good.
> 
> I am never satisfied with the terminology of "species" or "race" for the various peoples of Middle-Earth. JRRT's usage was defined by his times, and ours by ours and doesn't map very well onto that reality.
> 
> Following JRRT's somewhat problematic usage of men (as a gender) and Men (as one of the Free Peoples) here. Complaints registered and sympathized with, but it's one of my decisions in writing this not-very-AU mode.
> 
> Kindling, in dwarves, is to become fertile in a bearing sense. It is rare and sporadic and doesn't happen to everyone, and usually only when one is well-nourished and in love and having a lot of sex. If indeed it happened to Nori then it was unusual, both for his early age and because he was nursing -- but remember that Fili and Kili are very close in age, and Kili was most likely conceived while Fili was still nursing. (Now that I think on it, Thorin may have been the one primarily nursing Fili as his heir, which would have lessened the burden on Dis' metabolism.)


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little emotional processing, in the form of more smut.

Nori might have gone on, but Dwalin held him still, one hand over Nori's shoulders and the other pinning the gauntleted wrists. His mind was awhirl with words in Nori's voice: _safe_ , and _bare_ , and _love_. And _cunt_ so foreign and filthy, and almost sacred _kindle_. Even _cuddle_ , which he could never have imagined hearing the thief say. And again, unimaginable but real, his mind circled around to _love_. Nori had loved Eada. Had he, or could he, love again?

It wasn't just that Balin and Dori would kick him for asking. He wasn't sure Nori could, let alone would, answer it anyway. The closest Dwalin dared was whisper, "Can I cuddle you?"

Nori didn't answer at first, but pressed himself close and rubbed his cheek where the axes' leather strapping crossed Dwalin's chest. "Bare, if you want," he whispered back. "You've got me, guardsman."

The words filled Dwalin with heat, poured from the molten metal that was _Nori_. He groaned and released Nori's hands, and quick fingers wove into the loose hair at Dwalin's nape and the coarser locks of his beard. The grip was hard but the kiss that followed was soft, Nori's lips fluttering over Dwalin's open mouth, his tongue touching briefly inside. Dwalin groaned again. "What do you want?" he asked back, even as his body remembered. He rolled over on top, letting Nori take his weight, watching his tarnished-copper eyes open so wide, hearing his breath rush out. He settled his hips between Nori's thighs and thrust, feeling the rough cloth of his trousers as Mahal's apron pulled back from his cock. "This," he said. He'd meant to ask it, but his voice came out flat and sure.

Nori nodded mutely, his hands sliding between them. Dwalin reared back slightly and felt his axe-harness slipping free, the front of his shirts loosened. He pushed them off himself, then thrust his hips again as Nori stared. "Yours too, lad," he added roughly, and watched those fingers comply. He followed the rhythm there, drawing back a little at each new button and tie, pushing in when the fabric parted. When finally a thin line of Nori's skin appeared through the cloth, Dwalin murmured a wordless approval, dropping his head to nuzzle into the warm, coppery pelt. He sought out the piercing, took it into his mouth and sucked. Nori whined, fingers clenching in Dwalin's hair again. "You like that," said Dwalin, with Nori's pap still in his mouth, the gold and topaz clacking against his teeth. "Tell me."

It took a moment and Dwalin trembled, wanting to bite hard and needing to hear. Then Nori whispered "Yes," high and taut, and Dwalin floated in the warmth of that acquiescence, nipping him lightly instead. "Yes, that, please, all this...." Nori went on, and Dwalin rumbled in approval, taking the jewelry between his fingers and kissing his way down to Nori's belly.

"Yes," he agreed, "good lad," and nuzzled at the fabric above Nori's belt. The quick fingers were below his cheek, belt and trousers and smalls compliantly loosened and pushed away, Mahal's apron pulling back in welcome before his eyes. He pushed his face against Nori's hard, silky cock, such a contrast to his own scarred skin and rough beard, and Nori moaned and rubbed against him. Dwalin turned his head slowly, rubbing back, until Nori's fingers returned to his hair, pulling and voicelessly pleading. "Tell me," Dwalin repeated aloud.

"Please," Nori gasped, "your mouth." Dwalin opened obligingly, licking up and down Nori's stiletto length, then setting his head at an angle for Nori to push in. He made a shockingly comfortable mouthful, and Dwalin sucked appreciatively as Nori's fingernails scrabbled on his scalp. Nori's trousers were still around his thighs, and Dwalin could hear a muffled clinking from a pocket as he bucked.

He put a heavy forearm low on Nori's hips to still him, and pulled his mouth off slowly, staying close so his breath would touch that smooth, sensitive skin. "So, my good master of supply," he asked, "got any slick?"

Nori's hands went to his trousers, but he couldn't reach, so Dwalin let him up. He watched with his own eyes hooded, feeling a grin on his face as Nori dug out a small stoppered jar. But when he opened it, the familiar firewood scent made Dwalin's jaw drop. "Where did you get that?"

"Nicked it in Rivendell," said Nori thickly. Dwalin laughed, and Nori raised one braided brow. "What," he said tartly, "did you think you had it all yourself?"

"No, no," Dwalin was still laughing. "Mine got lost to the goblins. Balin might still have a bit. You're amazing, Nori, you are always so much more than I could imagine." The other braided eyebrow lifted at that. Dwalin reached for the thief, stripping off his lower garments, kissing his belly and then his face. "Come on," he said, as persuasively as he could, "fuck me?"

Nori's brows knitted before he nodded. Dwalin grinned and kissed him again, stripping himself and then reaching for the cream. He leaned back to place a daub carefully around his own hole, still smiling as Nori's eyes widened at the display. "Your light fingers first, thief," he said. Nori nodded, moving in. At first his fingers were light indeed, skimming and grazing, one hand in Dwalin's arse, the other reaching around his cock. Dwalin let his head fall back and his hips rise up. "Such... clever hands," he breathed, as he was simultaneously gripped and breached. "So beautiful, Nori, marble and copper, molten metal, hot enough to melt, so bright, yes _there_ \--" as Nori's fingers found the pebble of pleasure inside him "-- oh brilliant Nori, so hot, want you, want to have you, come on fuck me _please_ " and as Dwalin whined the hand inside was replaced by Nori's long cock, pushing entirely in with one swift hard rush. "Yes, that's right, good lad..." Dwalin ground out as Nori leaned over, both hands on Dwalin's jewels now, flicking and squeezing, scraping and stroking in time with the strokes of his cock. Dwalin bucked against him, one hand gripping Nori's moving arse, the other reaching around his shoulders and trying to avoid the threat of his hair. When he felt Nori's rhythm stutter he grabbed harder and whispered, "yes, lad, come for me..." Nori's hands clamped and he hissed, eyes open and shocky as he obeyed. Dwalin thrust twice into his clenched hand and followed, saying again, "oh Nori yes!"

The thief collapsed on top of him with a sound like a sob, and Dwalin stroked him soothingly as their bodies unlocked, turning them so he was wrapped around Nori from behind, careful not to push into the peaks and braids. He wondered what it would take to get Nori's hair down, to have it stroking along his body and Nori's head in his hands, and sighed. He felt blissfully worn out and satisfied, and at the same time he still wanted so much.

Nori shifted a little, not quite settling, and then put his two hands lightly atop Dwalin's own. The gesture seemed so sweet that Dwalin said, "I love you." Nori's whole body went taut at that, and Dwalin held him close and hard for a long time before the thief sighed and relaxed. Dwalin hadn't planned to say that, but he wouldn't take it back. He let himself add _I've got you_ only silently in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing at all to say about this, except that the "gay porn problem" (the linguistic phenomenon in which, say, "He put his hands on his waist." may be parsed in more or less suggestive ways) is real and I hope I have managed it adequately here.
> 
> About other things, all I have to say is: if you aren't reading Thorinsmut's Pirates AU, go do! Thorinsmut rules and that story is addictively delicious, and we are lucky lucky AO3 users to have such glory in our midst. <3


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' work done at Beorn's.

Dwalin didn't even remember being asleep. It seemed like one moment Nori lay in his arms, and the next he was alone. He sat up and inspected the tidy arrangement of his belongings. It appeared that Nori had accepted his gifts, which pleased him no end. His smallclothes draped gracefully from Grasper's handle. It made him chuckle, and wonder if this were accidental, and if Nori would have meant something different by hanging them on Keeper. Then he decided he'd better get up and think about things that weren't Nori for awhile.

In the great hall, Bombur and Thorin were deep in organizing their resupply. Since they didn't have ponies, they had set everyone available to constructing backpacks, and the amazing animals to filling them with provisions. Tharkun was missing now, as was Beorn still, but Thorin insisted that if the animals provided them with goods, it was ethical to take them. Dwalin wondered if Nori found this irritating, as he had with the elves, but couldn't ask as Nori was busy strapping a backpack to fit Dori. Since the creatures only looked sad-eyed when asked about weapons, Dwalin felt frustrated in his own responsibilities. He set to crafting a stronger slingshot for Ori, a warg-worthy one, selecting a solid forked branch and drying the wood in slow steps over the kitchen fire. Beorn did not appear to have a forge, which no doubt annoyed many members of the company for various reasons, but Dwalin had learned to keep his soldiers armed on the road and could make do.

He and Ori nearly collided in the hall, saying each other's name at the same moment -- Dwalin wanted to check Ori's pull for the sling, and Ori had been sent to find Dwalin to have his pack fitted. Ori was charmingly delighted to receive a new weapon, and his fingers on Dwalin's arm were strong and sure. _Good hands for a warrior_ , Dwalin signed into his palm, and was amused to watch Ori blush. Bifur had picked a sweet one, and if anyone could stand up to Dori, it would be Dwalin's boar-hunting shield-brother. He approved.

He liked the pack less, and spent some time fussing with Gloin, spreading more weight over his shoulders and into the small of his back. Dwalin might not be quite the strongest member of the Company, but with the lithe little form of Nori (oh Nori) still burning on his skin, he was acutely aware that he was the biggest, and determined that his share of the carrying reflect that. He saw Dori watching this with an unreadable expression, and returned the smallest of his own smiles. The Company might have an official porter, but Dwalin would do his part. He adjusted his axe-harness to suit, and went around to check that everyone's packs could be easily dropped and weaponry in hand at need.

Eventually he got to Nori, who met his eyes with a surprisingly fierce expression. Dwalin smiled back and didn't ask about his knives, but made sure that the mace rode well on Nori's back. He was carrying more weight than Dwalin liked, but he dared not question it; only asking if Nori's packs contained additional space and access for supplies as might be collected along the way. That got him half narrowed eyes and half a grin from Nori, and Dori saying hastily that they would be sure of it. Dwalin found the exchange unsatisfactory, but as soon as he'd admitted to himself that what he really wanted was a kiss, he backed away. Best to give the lad space, especially near his brother.

Tharkun returned then, just at sunset, brushing away everyone's questions until he was seated and the animals had brought him a big dinner. Everyone else left off working on their projects to eat as well, waiting for the wizard to dispense whatever information he chose -- Dwalin never found him so frustrating as times like these. But there was nothing for it except patience, and after drinking a full bottle of mead and bringing out his pipe, Tharkun had turned cheerful. He said he had been tracking, and there had been a great gathering of bears -- apparently Beorn socialized with those normally-solitary creatures. They had headed in numbers towards the Misty Mountains, and not yet returned. Bilbo piped up with concern; what if they led the evil creatures back to Beorn's halls? Gandalf (as the hobbit called him) said that was a silly question, and Bilbo went off looking quite crushed. Bofur ran after him, reminding him loudly that Beorn had better reason to hate orcs than anyone, and no reason to betray them, but the burglar had buried his head under a pillow and didn't respond.

The working mood had been broken. Everyone ate too much, and some drank too much. Oin and Ori started singing, Gloin and Bofur sparred, and Thorin and his heirs went in and out of each group. Bombur, Balin, and Dori seemed inclined to go on drinking, and Nori started throwing knives into a warg-pelt mounted high like a trophy on the wall. Dwalin decided he'd had enough of everyone. He made himself finish Ori's new sling and present it formally, and suggested the lad join his brother in target practice. Then he politely asked a sheep if a bed could be made up for him in the buttery. It nodded with a serious expression and dashed off. Dwalin cracked walnuts between his fingers, eating half and stowing half, and smoked his pipe with Beorn's pipe-weed until it returned and bowed. He left the hall alone, wondering if he would remain alone, and telling himself he didn't care as long as he got some sleep. Hedge-wall and warnings notwithstanding, he didn't want to remain. They had miles to go and a Mountain to capture, and all before Durin's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In book canon they wait for Beorn to return to resupply. I figure he probably has all his people's old things in storage, and the animals would be just as happy to see them used. Also, though they haven't discussed it, the dwarves don't actually trust Beorn. So Thorin's preparing to slip away, and Bombur has insisted that they be well-stocked.
> 
> I feel a little bad for Nori, as relatively little actual theft has been involved in supplying the quest. He does his best, but Tolkien wrote in a lot of generosity on the part of people the Company meet :)
> 
> Does my failure to use diacritical marks (those things that go over vowels to indicate particulars of sound) in names like Kili and Tharkun bother other people? It does me, just a little, but not enough to make altering my keyboard worth it :/ May eventually go back and mass-edit.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some fun is had. This chapter is dedicated to my dog Lupin, who loves everyone she meets.
> 
> (Also more smut.)

Dwalin didn't even make it past the kitchen. Bifur was outside with five of the long-bodied dogs and something that looked like a giant spiderweb made of braided rags. Bifur had a strand wrapped in each hand, and the dogs held on with their mouths. Five dogs seemed about equal to one Dwarvish warrior in strength, and they hauled each other staggering around the courtyard, growling in their throats. Dwalin watched incredulously for a minute, then dove in and seized a free strand. Working together, he and Bifur dragged the dogs several yards; then Bifur abruptly switched sides and Dwalin went sprawling. Another dog leapt in, and a moment later Bifur landed atop him. The dogs wagged their tails furiously and came to lick them both, and Dwalin lay back, laughing helplessly.

When one of the dogs dropped the web on him, he lurched back to his feet for another round, six dogs tugging him this way and that, and a seventh came up to snap at his heels. Dwalin tripped, but Bifur was at his elbow and kept him upright, and set one hand on the toy and one on Dwalin's axe-harness. He yelled "Khazad ai-menu!" and shoved forwards, and the two of them dragged the dogs skipping across the yard until they were running, pulling the web overhead as the dogs jumped and barked and chased. They made it all the way to the hedge-wall before they stopped and collapsed in laughter again. The dogs yipped and capered and licked them soundly, then snatched up the web and ran away with it.

 _Aren't they delightful?_ Bifur signed on Dwalin's forearm, still chuckling. _I never saw their like. I will miss them when we go._

"I didn't know they played," said Dwalin, looping an arm around Bifur's shoulders. "Trust you to find out."

 _Everyone plays,_ Bifur replied, _given a chance._ He grinned up at Dwalin. _Even scarred old warriors like you and me._

Dwalin nodded. "I needed that." He felt better than he had since waking up alone, as if Bifur and the dogs had somehow returned him to himself. He wound a hand into Bifur's black-and-white hair, smiled back into his green-glass eyes, and kissed him affectionately.

 _Something else you need?_ signed Bifur on Dwalin's throat, as their mouths played together.

Dwalin wished his Iglishmek were better, but broke the kiss to answer seriously. "Mahal save me, I don't know. I've been spending time with Nori. The sex is amazing and he's breaking my heart. I thought I needed to be alone, but you know, I was wrong."

Bifur's eyebrows lowered. _What's he done to you?_

"Nothing bad," said Dwalin hastily. The last thing he wanted to see was those two in a fight. "We've just talked a lot. He's had a hard life." Saying that, he realized that Bifur's life could not have been easy either, and added, "And he's so young. Hasn't learned to live with his sorrows yet."

Bifur's expression cleared and he nodded. _He's a good brother,_ he said. _Ori_ \-- his sign combined _writer_ and _cute_ , and Dwalin felt the corner of his mouth quirk up as he nodded his comprehension -- _is a happy lad, and credits his brothers' care._ Bifur chuckled again, adding, _We've talked a lot. No sex though. His brothers' care._

"A shame." Dwalin kissed Bifur again, more purposefully this time, and reached beneath the braided beard to carefully sign, _Anything you need..._

Bifur laughed again, moving in the kiss, that beautiful sound ringing in Dwalin's bones as if it were his own. _Not need. Want, yes._

Dwalin put his hands under Bifur's collar and signed _suck you_ without adding the stroke that made it a question, and Bifur sighed and let himself be drawn down onto his back in the moon-shadow beneath the hedge. Dwalin made quick work of the bone fastenings and ties on his clothes, with an inexpressible relief and ease at knowing no secrets were hiding from him within. When he pushed off Bifur's shirts and jackets, he found the hard tip of the heavy, warrior-jeweled cock awaiting him above the low-slung belt. Dwalin's mouth watered and he dropped his face upon it immediately, rubbing and licking and murmuring his joy.

Bifur raised his hips, grinding into that intimate kiss, and opened his trousers himself, shedding clothes and boots until he was naked on the ground. Dwalin's jaw strained to encompass him. Bifur put one gentling had in his hair, signing with the other atop Dwalin's head: _so good for me, shield-brother, evil-slayer, yes your tongue, yes your beard, yes your hands. yes your teeth_ until all sense dissolved into trembling and clinging as Dwalin sucked until he couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything but Bifur's center shaking, couldn't care about anything except the hot living flesh and Bifur's pleasure. He groped beneath Bifur's arse with one hand, distantly thinking of slick and not much concerned. Bifur ground back to be penetrated and Dwalin crooked his smallest finger in, still sucking and swallowing around the jeweled cock, and the warrior came with a howl like a hunting call.

Dwalin released Bifur's cock slowly, cradling it in one hand, and with the other arm he similarly cradled his shield-brother against his chest. "Thank you," he whispered, and added in Iglishmek on Bifur's belly, _Mahal bless your beauty and your strength._

Bifur turned to embrace him, holding Dwalin hard around the shoulders, then drew back a little to meet him with green-glass eyes still blown to black. _All my gifts and skills I give to you,_ he signed, formal as a scripture, _my strengths and wits to shield you, my pleasure to please you._ He paused to stroke his fingers through Dwalin's long hair, then his beard, blunt nails scraping gently across skin. Then he added, _A pity for the lads. I think their brother does no good to restrain them._

Dwalin might have argued that Nori, at least, took his pleasure as he liked, but realized before he spoke that that might not be true. He accepted contact, even sought it to some degree, but what price did he pay in shame and his family's disrespect? It was a pity indeed. So he only nodded and sank further into Bifur's embrace, resting his cheek on the scarred chest, silently thanking Mahal and Balin and Fundin for every kindness he had received.

It was not enough. "Let's go get them," he said, sitting upright and taking Bifur's hands in his own. "Ori and Nori. We can -- I can," he hesitated, of course Beorn's animals would know neither Khuzdul nor Iglishmek, "have a place for the night set up for you, the animals are kind, someplace private that Ori would like -- Beorn might have a library -- ha, you might not want the distraction -- and we'll just go to the hall and ask them for the honor. Dori can disapprove all he likes, but he can't take both of us at once. And Ori should be honored. I made him a bigger sling, but he deserves a beautiful warrior like you."

Bifur sat up too, his hair falling like striated stone around the strong mass of his body, the red jewels of his cock gleaming faintly in the night. _Thank you for seeing my beauty,_ he signed, almost shyly. Then he came to his feet, still naked, and pulled Dwalin up with him. _Let us go together, then, and ask if we may honor our brothers in arms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dogs like toys at least as much as elves do :)


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to spouse my spouse (who is an elf, but we don't have to talk about that :)

Gloin and his throwing axes had joined the younger brothers Ri, and Beorn's trophy warg-skin was reduced to tattered ribbons upon a dented wall. Bofur, Bombur, and Dori were snoring under the table. Balin, who had apparently managed to out-drink them, was still sitting more or less upright and singing with Fili, Kili, and Oin; Thorin had acquired an outsized harp, and he sat on the table's edge playing a plaintive descant. Bilbo sat at the foot of the harp, leaning back on his hands and gazing up in wonder.

Bifur and Dwalin's entrance was preceded by three dogs, a large golden chicken, and a pony, each prancing with a festive ribbon around its neck. The singers stammered briefly, but Thorin plowed on and the voices followed. The target-practice group all turned and stared.

Bifur marched directly towards his intended, boar-spear in hand. Dwalin and the animals fell back a respectful distance to surround him as he knelt and placed his spear on the floor at Ori's feet. From behind and above, and without the tactile aspect to help, Dwalin could not fully understand Bifur's signing. If he were not standing at attention as part of an honor guard, he would have moved to see better, as Bifur's signs were clearly poetry:

_\-- my spear, my strength_  
 _my senses, my skin_  
 _solidarity, support_  
 _solemnly sworn_  
 _to sling-warrior, scribe --_

The chicken pecked Dwalin's ankle, hard; he was leaning forward and craning his neck. He straightened up, aware that he was part of the demonstration, not its intended audience. Ori was also leaning forward, first slack-jawed, then blushing, then finally smiling so fiercely that even Nori, observing in bewilderment, reflexively smiled too. When Bifur's hands stopped in the gesture that indicated a question awaiting reply, Ori took a deep breath and knelt opposite him. He placed his new slingshot across the spear, extended a handful of walnuts -- ammunition -- over them. Bifur whooped, interrupting the singers and eliciting a groan from one of the drunk. He swept Ori onto one of his shoulders, collected the weaponry with his free hand, and strode out of the hall with the animal guard leaping and rearing and fluttering along.

Gloin grabbed Nori and Dwalin into a huge fierce hug. There were tears on his face, and he was laughing and sputtering, "Oh, that was beautiful! Nori, you must be so proud! When I met my wife, I tried -- I wasn't half that poetic -- I set my war-axe at her feet, and as I knelt, she threw her flail around me like a coney in a snare. My arms were pinned, good thing I wasn't using Iglishmek! Then she lifted me -- still trapped -- and carried me...." he trailed off as Nori stared. "What?"

"That's how you met your wife?" Nori demanded. "Did my little brother just get engaged?"

"What?" said Gloin again. "No, of course not! Weren't you watching?" Nori stared back balefully, and Gloin shook his head, russet beard swaying. "I'm sorry, my own Iglishmek's gotten much better recently, sparring with Bifur. He did not propose marriage to your brother, I am sure that would have been quite improper. He asked Ori to recognize him as a shield-brother -- that was the point of laying down his spear, to say your brother could rely on it in Bifur's hand or Ori's own. And Ori -- sweet little Ori, forgive me, I would not have thought it -- offered his own weapon in kind. It's very romantic," he sighed. "But no, they're not engaged. It's a relationship traditional to warriors together, not to home and family. Though sometimes that does come later," he added. He might have gone on about his wife again, but Nori's look was quelling.

"Thank you," said Nori icily, though the glance he gave Dwalin was wide-eyed and uncertain. "You are right, Gloin, I did not properly understand the exchange. I appreciate your clarification."

Dwalin pulled them both back into his arms. "Aye, Gloin, thank you," he said, with all the warmth he could. "I only wish I'd had your view to watch the poetry! Nori, you should be proud. I see from that poor old warg," he nodded up at the tattered skin, "how you've taught Ori to be the death of evil things." He snuck a glance over his shoulder. The musicians had fallen silent, though one of the drunkards was snoring. Bilbo caught his eye -- the little fellow was positively beaming.

"Come have a drink!" the hobbit called, and Balin echoed him, "Let's drink to our warrior Ori!"

Gloin went with his smile restored, and if Nori hung back, Dwalin was strong enough to pretend not to notice. A sheep came to the table carrying glasses, and a goat followed with a basket containing three tall bottles. They were dusty and the paper labels were peeling away, but the picture on them was still visible: a white bird flying above a blue ship.

Thorin opened one and poured, apparently not recognizing anything undesirably Elvish about the deep red wine. He raised his glass, and spoke in his kingly voice: "To Ori, may he always prevail! And to Bifur, strong at his side!"

"To Ori and to Bifur," everyone echoed and drank. Gloin started back up about his wife, with Oin rolling his eyes, and Kili and Fili interrupting to talk about their parents. Dori snored under the table, and Gloin kicked him.

"And to you and me, in Dorwinion," whispered Dwalin to Nori. At that, Nori's shoulders finally relaxed, and he leaned against Dwalin and laughed as he drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Signed-language poetry incorporates repetitions of sub-word characteristics like hand-shape and movement similar to spoken-word poetic forms such as alliteration (used here in a representational/translational sense) and rhyme. Of course whole-word and whole-sentence repetons can also be used, as in some traditional poetry forms like the sestina and pantoum.
> 
> SO MANY THANKS to the Nwalin crew (esp. Sparkle!) for help with specific details <3


	42. no knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on not being shield-brothers. or, i dunno, have some smooching :)

Dwalin didn't see it happen, but there had been three Elvishly-tall bottles in the basket, and now there were only two on the table. One was empty and the other was mostly empty. Bilbo had joined the heap of drunkards snoring on the floor, Fili, Kili and Oin had gone to bed, and Gloin and Thorin were arm-wrestling. Nori looked as alert as ever, and was trying to get Dwalin to bet on Thorin, but Dwalin wasn't taking it.

"Whoever wins will want to wrestle me," he said, "and I don't. Want to." He squinted at Nori, wondering where exactly he was carrying that third bottle, and how he'd gotten it there. "Them. I'd wrestle you," he added. "For the wine. Or not." He was drunk enough already. Gloin won, thunderously, and crowed as Thorin demanded a rematch. Dwalin stood up, trying not to distract them, and went for the door.

It was raining outside, dark as a coal mine and slippery with mud. He hesitated, considered sleeping in the hall, remembered how happy the dogs had been while decorating the buttery. He put up his hood and took half a step before a hard shove hit him from behind. As he stumbled he was captured crouching, one hand pinned behind his back and a grip on his neck. 

He was too drunk to tense up. In fact he felt himself smiling foolishly as a voice whispered, "Dwalin son of Fundin. What'll you give me not to kill you where you stand?" It rang in his hearing like a struck copper bell.

"A kiss?" he asked, then gasped, "Mahal! Anything you want," as his hand was yanked painfully towards his shoulder.

"Anything," the voice murmured, "not that you have much. Two axes --" and then the breath went out of it as Dwalin pinned the choking hand to his chest and ducked backwards, flinging Nori over his shoulder to splash in the mud. A century of daily Guard practice let Dwalin fall towards the pin in the dark. Nori cursed and thrashed and kicked Dwalin in the same place he'd previously bruised on the shin, and Dwalin held him fast as they rolled over, splashing mud. It was slippery stuff, and Nori's twisting put them face-to-face, which was all right with Dwalin. When he was on top again he pushed down for a slow, hard kiss.

Nori might have tried to bite him, or might have been trying to kiss back. His teeth scraped into Dwalin's mustache. Dwalin liked the feeling, but was uncertain of the intent. He drew back, levering Nori's arms up into his grip. "I've got good reflexes," he replied, as if the intervening time hadn't passed. "Also size, strength, training, experience." Nori muttered something, too low for Dwalin to make out the words, but giving rise to that struck-bell resonance until he felt himself grinning again. "You'll have those," he murmured, bending low, "and I'll have that kiss."

It took a moment, but this time Dwalin was sure Nori was kissing back, and arching under him in a way that had nothing to do with escape. When they broke for breath, Nori said clearly, "You've got me, guardsman."

It was too perfect, or perhaps a century of Guard work will make a dwarf wary of thieves, or perhaps it was one of Beorn's dogs pressing a cold, wet nose into Dwalin's hood just then. Something drew Dwalin's attention to the fact that he was rutting outside in the rain, and he sighed instead of kissing Nori again. "If I let you up," he said, "are you going to draw a knife? Or come back to the buttery with me?"

Nori sighed too, and the dog whuffed. "I'll go with you if you want," he said. "No knives."

Dwalin let him up. They were surrounded by dogs, with a pony or two stamping in the background. This was useful, as Dwalin had gotten quite turned around in the melee. The animals herded the dwarves to the stone room that had become an almost-private refuge.

The buttery smelled of hot cider and wet dog. An oil lamp burned low beside a luxurious spread of blankets and pillows, and a low table held a jug warmed by a knitted cozy, a plate full of cookies and another of apricots. There was even a bowl of oily-looking white slick, and Dwalin almost blushed. Nori was staring. A pony nosed open the latch and clopped in with two baskets. It pulled back their covers to show that one held steaming-hot damp towels, the other dry. Another pony arrived with an empty one, which it placed on the floor and stood by patiently.

"Get out of your muddy things," said Dwalin, a bit brusquely. He took off his own hood and set it in the empty basket, and the pony nosed him agreeably. He stroked its velvet muzzle and added, "Everything else, too. No knives."

"That would take some doing," said Nori, half a smile and half a sneer.

"Do it." Dwalin set his axes atop a barrel and put the warg-skin, which was at least as filthy as a live warg could have gotten it, into the basket as well. "Hairpins too." In for a pebble, in for a mountainslide. Nori looked mutinous and Dwalin glared back. "You attacked me," he reminded Nori. "I've only ever protected you."

"Of late, that is," said Nori, and Dwalin had to look away.

"....True enough," he admitted, and it was painful. He sat down and took off his muddy boots, and at the pony's nod handed them over. "But it is true now. And I want your hair down, to have my hands in it." He was definitely still drunk.

There was a pause, then Nori said, "All right. But you can't watch." Dwalin turned away obediently, facing the ponies as he stripped and cleaned his hands and face. The pony carrying the laundry stepped behind him, but Dwalin did not turn back until Nori said again, "All right."

He sat upright on the pillows, hands loose in his lap. His hair was out of its peaks, a few small braids peeking through here and there as it tumbled past his hips. His eyebrows, beard, and mustache were still in plaits, but their beads and clasps had been removed and the ends formed endearing little puffs. The ponies clattered out, and Dwalin picked up a fresh towel and advanced on the bed.

Nori was also quite muddy, and his skin was cold. Dwalin paused to pour him a cup of steaming cider, then sat behind him to towel-rub and finger-comb. As he got cleaner and warmer, some tension seemed to leave him as well, and by the time Dwalin was satisfied with his grooming, Nori was leaning back against his chest, eyes half-closed. His nursing-token gleamed in the low light, and Dwalin allowed himself to touch it with gentle reverence. Nori's eyes opened at that, and Dwalin smiled at him and offered him an apricot.

Nori took it from his fingers and chewed thoughtfully. After swallowing, he said, "Did the animals set this up for you? Did they make something like it for," he paused, swallowed again, "Bifur and Ori?"

Dwalin nodded. "They're very kind," he said. "I think they're lonely with only Beorn to look after." He regarded Nori, wondering if there was some other question he should answer. "Are you worried about your brother? He seemed happy, and I'll vouch for Bifur." Nori's lips thinned and he shook his head, so Dwalin tried again. "Is it hard to think of him as a warrior?"

"No," said Nori immediately. "Ori's brave and deadly. Even I can see that." He was silent a moment, then went on, "Is it hard to think of me that way?"

"No," said Dwalin, as understanding dawned. "You've already killed for me -- for all of us, but at my side, in the goblin caves. I couldn't ask for stronger or braver. But.... Nori, that's not how I love you. I want to protect you. To have you safe." The last came out in a rush. "I'm sorry if it's not what you want, and I know it's not right on a quest. It's just how I feel."

"Is that why you wanted me disarmed?" Nori asked, and Dwalin shook his head.

"No. I don't want more of my blood shed, and I do love your hair." He carded a hand into the damp length, curving his fingers around the back of Nori's skull, and could not resist pressing a kiss between braided eyebrows. "Though you might turn me down for shield-brother anyway, if you want to hurt me?" Dwalin's heart was in his mouth, and he remembered that he had been attacked.

"If I wanted to hurt you I would have used a knife," said Nori. "I wouldn't harm anyone in the Company, anyway. I'm not stupid." But he did look embarrassed, and went on, "I was angry, I suppose. Jealous. And you looked like a perfect target."

"I'm not," said Dwalin, and Nori nodded.

"So I found. Or not, given apricots and cider, combing and kisses." He pushed up, kissing Dwalin gently on the side of the mouth.

"You didn't get those by mugging me," said Dwalin, wanting to be very clear about this, even if it meant breaking off the kiss. "That's for coming with me." He kissed back, still gently, then asked, "Nori. What do you want?"

"I wouldn't mind being safe," said Nori. After that there was only kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from a very old MIT hack called "No Knife." Google if you're curious. That kind of thing amuses me. (It is not referential in content; it's just the same title.)


	43. knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too late, Dwalin.

Waking up with Nori in his bed was much nicer than waking up alone. Dwalin nuzzled his face into the thick loose hair, listening to Nori breathe. It was still dark and quiet outside, too early for birdsong, but Dwalin heard hoofbeats clopping softly away from the buttery.

He rolled over. The oil lamp gave off the faintest glow. Behind it were a few of the animals' baskets. One was lined with his warg-skin, which smelled like clean warg now. His other clothes were neatly folded within, and the items he'd left in his pockets arrayed on top. In the center was a small, antler-handled knife.

Dwalin had almost forgotten about that.

Did Nori remember?

Had Nori even realized the significance of giving Dwalin one of his weapons? He had never asked if it were accepted, or called Dwalin his shield-brother. Was it intended to mean something else entirely -- payback for the blackberries and thorns, perhaps even a threat?

Not that it was always easy to tell Nori's threats from his affections. Dwalin had detained his share of muggers over the years, but he had never before taken one to a bed he'd had prepared for them to share, let alone spent drunken hours kissing them and playing with their hair.

It was not appropriate to tell one's shield-brother that one's deepest desire was to keep them _safe_. Nor, he supposed, to call them _guardsman_ or _a perfect target_.

But Dwalin had kept the knife. And Nori had trailed him back to the goblin-caves and fought at his side, and made it out again as Dwalin's axes rose and fell. And they had taken joy and comfort in each other before and since.

Whether it ultimately suited Dwalin's dreams or not, they already acted like shield-brothers. And even if Nori's background had kept him ignorant of the subject before, Dwalin had no doubt that Ori would enlighten him by explanation or example -- being Ori, and Bifur being Bifur, very likely both.

Dwalin sat up and reached for the knife. The grip was rough against his palm, the point sharp as he tested it against his skin. It was a worthy weapon, and the least he owed Nori was the offer of his own in turn.

He stood up and fetched Grasper and Keeper. Nori lay with his back to the lamp, curled up and face soft with sleep. Unbraided, he looked even more like a child than Ori, small and lean and almost innocent. Dwalin placed the axes by his hands. Still holding the knife, he lay down again, and they rested back to back as the day began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suffered mild writers' block today, which I have assuaged by copping two stylistic elements from the revered Thorinsmut: short paragraphs and italicized words. :)


	44. axes, and a knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oaths.

Dwalin must have slept too, but he woke up when Nori's back tensed against his own. He felt Nori's shoulders reaching out, heard the axes' wooden shafts clack together. He turned over, Nori's little knife tucked safely into his palm, and wrapped his arm around Nori's waist, careful not to restrain him. "Hey, lad," he said, voice rough with sleep. "You know, I kept your knife. I realized I owe you these." Nori made a soft sound of confusion, and Dwalin opened his hand to show the knife. "This weapon. You gave it to me, didn't you?"

"Aye," Nori whispered. "It was sort of a joke. A gift."

"That kind of gift can mean something. If you want it to," Dwalin murmured. "I said I didn't love you like a shield-brother, and I was wrong. I think I love you otherwise as well, but. I already was carrying your weapon, and you were already fighting for me. So I'll swear to you, if you'll have me." He took a breath, did not wait for Nori to ask _have me as what?_ "Sometimes shield-brothers make a proud offering, like Bifur did. Other times there's no words, we take the meaning for granted. But the old oath is simple, and I ask you to accept mine:

"Before I forsake you, my shield-brother,  
may my own hands turn my weapons against me."

"Do you mean that?" Nori twisted back, eyes as wide as Dwalin had ever seen them. Dwalin clasped his shoulder and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "You don't have to swear. I'd give back your knife and I love you anyway." Nori's eyes narrowed, more than Dwalin liked. Dwalin turned him over in the embrace, pressed the little knife into Nori's hands. "But I mean it myself. I swear before Mahal, even if I can't call you shield-brother." And before his own courage could desert him, he reached back to touch Grasper and Keeper, their grips familiar and reassuring. "Before I forsake you, Nori, may my own hands turn my weapons against me." Saying it lightened Dwalin's heart, and he dropped the axes on the bed, kissed Nori's forehead and released him.

Nori's eyes filled with tears, and he fell forward, burying his face in Dwalin's beard. "I can't," he whispered miserably. "I can't swear anything, ever, to anyone. I'm already forsworn."

He sounded devastated, as any dwarf who'd broken their word would be. Dwalin wrapped his arms around Nori's shoulders again, and asked softly, "What happened?"

"Eada," said Nori, with a world of misery and regret. "I swore I'd go back to her. But I let Dori stop me, and when I tried again, it was much too late."

"....poor love." Dwalin whispered. "I am so sorry." His mind reeled. Eada was dead, so Nori could not ask her to release him from the vow. And she was a Man, so they would not meet again in Mahal's Halls. And doubtless Nori, child that he had been, would not have given himself any way back through the vow at any cost. "Mahal's mercy forgive you." He suspected Eada might have forgiven, but he could not tell Nori that; he didn't know her and knew little enough of Men. "You did try," he added. It seemed the least that he could do.

Nori shuddered against his chest, quietly sobbing, and Dwalin held him. Eventually he stilled, then sat up and wiped his face on a blanket. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's a beautiful oath and an honor. But --"

"Hush," Dwalin interrupted. "I understand. I do honor you, and I mean my oath, and Mahal's heard me already. And I've given your knife back, so there's nothing you've sworn or implied. It's all right."

Nori shook his head. "I -- you can keep the knife, if you want. I only meant it as a gift." He turned it over, tested the point, and looked down at Dwalin with something that was almost wonder. "I wanted you to think of me."

Dwalin laughed, which he hoped was not unkind. "I did, lad," he said. "I do. Knife or no knife. I was watching you already."

Nori nodded, and abruptly held out the dagger, antler handle first. Dwalin took it. "It's a gift," said Nori again.

"I will keep it and cherish it," said Dwalin formally, and pulled Nori down again for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's forgotten, Eada was the girl whose room Nori and Ori shared the last winter they were wandering. She and Nori were in love, and her father had agreed to take Nori as an apprentice clockmaker, but Dori felt the family needed to move on and live among dwarves.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beorn, Dori... oh yeah, those guys.

A cock crowed loudly at the door. Dwalin huffed in annoyance. Nori was finally starting to settle down and relax, Mahal's apron twitching shyly under Dwalin's palm. The rooster crowed again.

"Best get moving," said Dwalin, and forced himself to sit up. The animals would not interrupt them without good reason. Nori whined, almost inaudibly, and it took a soldier's discipline for Dwalin not to cuddle back against him. "Let's go."

Obediently, Nori rose, and Dwalin watched him dress. He was sweetly awkward putting on his new stitched-cotton smalls, and Dwalin was pleased at how well they fit. They were quiet together as they layered themselves into their clean clothes. The warg-skin had never been so soft, certainly not on the warg. Dwalin combed his beard and hair, and turned to offer to do the same for Nori. But the thief gave him a knife-smile, saying, "I'll do that in privacy, guardsman."

Dwalin huffed, disappointed, but took up his axes and went out. The day was bright and the courtyard filled with animals trotting this way and that, carrying all sorts of burdens. Beorn's halls were just as busy. The skin-changer himself had returned, and was striding about while eating a great loaf of bread, honey dripping into his beard. He was in a very festive mood, and actually chucked Dwalin under the chin, laughing "Goblin-killing! Fierce little things!" before whirling away to direct a chicken at assembling a mending kit. Apparently he meant to supply the Company with considerably more generosity than they'd allowed themselves, including ponies to take them as far as Mirkwood. The packs the dwarves had made for themselves were being refitted to strap to harnesses, along with foodstuffs both fresh and preserved. Beorn warned them against both the hunting and the water of the forest, and Bombur nodded as they counted waterskins and made made maps of streams and springs.

Dori was sitting at a table, mithril braids like gleaming armor and an expression of perfect misery on his face. He was watching Ori, whose hair was entirely out in wild curls, sitting with Bifur, Kili, and Gloin as they honed Beorn's generous provision of arrows and knives. Dwalin might honestly have felt sorry for Dori, but he knew better than to approach, particularly while Nori was still nowhere in evidence. He looked for Balin, who sat with Thorin, Fili, and Tharkun over a different set of maps, and felt a bit helpless. When he looked back, Bilbo was offering Dori a platter of pastries, and the dwarf was waving him away without even looking up. Bilbo looked hurt, and that was the end of Dwalin's patience.

He was there in three strides, bending down and saying, "Mister Baggins, those smell wonderful!" as he took one for himself. With his mouth full, he sat down beside Dori, as Bilbo's eyes widened. "Thank you," he went on with his mouth full. "Dori, have a cinnamon roll. You'll feel better." He must have spoken loudly, because heads popped up at them from all over the hall -- Balin's the quickest, looking incredulous, then wide-eyed Ori and Bifur with a grin. Dori turned to face him as well, eyes narrowing, and Dwalin flashed what he suspected was an imitation of Nori's knife-smile. "Go on," he urged, after swallowing. "They're delicious."

Dori's expression passed through irritation to anger, and Dwalin judged the distance between them -- he was close enough to soft-block a quick strike, and deeply doubted Dori had access to anything sharper than the butter-knives on the table. He held the gaze as Dori's face fell back into a deep old grief, and as some polite non-expression struggled to reassert itself, he clapped the porter on the shoulder. "It's all right," he said, more quietly. "Nori will be along soon." And as Dori seemed aimed back to outrage, Dwalin tightened his grip gently, and repeated, "It's all right."

Manners might have won out, or perhaps it was something else. But the porter barked a short, harsh laugh that was anything but beautiful, and clapped Dwalin back, hard enough to jostle his axes. "I think I shall, thank you, Bilbo," he said, loud and brittle, and the little fellow returned at once with his platter. "Thank you," he said again, taking a cinnamon roll and tearing into it with his teeth. "Mm, yes, very lovely," he said. He and Dwalin were still staring at each other, and Dwalin could just see Balin approaching stealthily behind Dori's back. But the porter managed a smile of some kind first, and to continue, "Perhaps everyone might like a bit of tea?"

Dwalin let go as a dog nosed between them with a kettle. There were cups already stacked on the table, and Dori poured as Balin sat down on his other side. Dwalin moved back and gestured to the hobbit. "Join us, master burglar and baker," he said, and the little fellow did, placing the platter of pastries carefully, his eyes still round as saucers. So they were sitting, nibbling sweets and drinking tea, like civilized (if rather silent) people when Nori came through the door.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you through the generous sponsorship of a low-grade fever.

Even though Dwalin was watching, he almost missed seeing Nori enter the hall. The thief walked in with some ponies and a goat, then angled back to help with the harnessing. Dwalin forced himself to look back at his own companions. Bilbo was buttering a scone, and Balin had taken Dori's hand between their seats. Dori's grip was hard enough to turn Balin's knuckles white, and Dwalin had to look away. He gulped the last of his tea, murmured a general sort of thanks, and fled to look at Bombur's maps.

He was very glad of the quartermaster's sensible company, and to have the involving task of calculating water weight, march time, and carrying strength. Beorn had provided a set of scales, and the various foodstuffs were weighed; they would eat the heaviest first, before they reached the forest. The ponies would turn back there, and the dwarves proceed on foot. "No hunting," said Bombur thoughtfully, and went on, "It might be safest if someone else carried Kili's bow. The lad's impulsive. What about Bifur's spear?"

Dwalin's brow lowered. He did not like the idea of anyone being unarmed in Elvish woods. "Neither," he pronounced. "We need them for defense. If Kili shoots animals, we collect the arrows and leave the corpses." Bombur sighed, then nodded. Beorn's had been a protected respite, and Mirkwood promised the opposite, and the warrior did not like the prospect any more than the quartermaster did. They had lost Thrain near that forest, many decades before. Dwalin gathered Bombur's knives and sat down to sharpen them.

By the time that task was finished, everyone else was gathering around the tables for lunch. It was a tense and raucous affair. Beorn was the one drinking too much now, toasting every dead warg and goblin and every questing dwarf in turn. The Company sang and tossed dishes, and Bilbo danced on the table until Beorn poked him in the tummy. Only Tharkun remained aloof, blowing smoke-rings. The animals plied everyone with candy and wines and last-minute gifts of dried fruits and colorful handkerchiefs and clever little folding pocket-knives. Then the last spoonfuls of berries in clotted cream were gone, the last sips of bubbly cider drained away. The burdened ponies approached the Company, saddled and heavily packed, but wearing no bridles. Beorn placed Bilbo on a lovely champagne-colored mare, and everyone else mounted, and they were out the door and past the gate and galloping freely across a grassy plain. But it was many miles before anyone spoke or sang, and when dusk glowered behind the mountain-peaks, they set up camp and scheduled a double guard.

Kili brought down a brace of pheasants, as if to prove his worth between Beorn's and Mirkwood, and Bombur prepared a feast with the birds baked in cream and bread still fresh from Beorn's ovens. Dori unpacked the bedrolls into strict family groups. Dwalin had first watch, with Thorin; after them would be Balin and Ori, followed by Nori and Gloin. Dwalin had a moment of grumpily wondering if Thorin could have possibly been less subtle about that. But as the rest of the company settled down to sleep, he thought of Thorin's stone-sense feeling all of them, and decided he probably could not.

They walked the perimeter together, chose a lookout point and made a watch-fire, stocked it with brands in case of need. Then they sat with their backs to the fire, leaning together as they had so many times, over so many miles and battles and years. Something big moved in the darkness, and Dwalin felt Thorin tense. "That'll be Beorn's ponies," Dwalin murmured, and the king relaxed again. "Keeping watch too."

"It's just... so much to look out for," said Thorin presently. "Erebor. And everyone. It's good to be on watch. Half the time I can't sleep anyway. It's too much even when I close my eyes."

Dwalin nodded, pulling Thorin closer. "Burden of kings, Balin should have said." It was one thing to presume that a King would bear kingly burdens, but it seemed something else when it lay on Thorin. "Anything I can do?"

Thorin laughed, though not easily. "It's good to have you with me," he said, then went on, "but it's no good asking the lot of you to let the Ri brothers alone, is it?"

Dwalin felt the blood rising shamefully to his face. "Nay," he said, "they... you know, they need us too?"

"I do know," Thorin admitted. "When I think on it fairly, it is the right thing. They are not our kin, but they must become a part of us -- the Ri, the Ur, joined to us as Durin became king among kings in the beginning of days. Or the quest will fail, not because of the dragon, but if our Companionship falls." He moved restlessly in Dwalin's embrace. "Sometimes I can feel the pulling and pushing among you, like magnets turning this way and that. Is there," he paused, thought, went on delicately, "any way you might be easier on Dori?"

"I doubt it," said Dwalin, almost ruefully. "I hope Balin helps."

"He'll try," said Thorin. He moved and Dwalin felt it like a seam of gold in granite, turning to reflect the light of the moon, Thorin's weight a boulder in his arms.

Dwalin kissed his temple, and they climbed to their feet to walk the perimeter again. Nothing had changed; the ponies ranged before and behind them, trampling the grass and marking the territory. By the time they returned to the watch-fire, it was almost time to rouse the next shift.

Dwalin heated coffee from the pot Bombur had left beside the fire, poured some and added sugar, and took the mug to his brother. He put a hand on Balin's shoulder. "Hey," he whispered first, then when Balin twitched, said a little louder: "Hey. Your watch. Time to get up."

Balin groaned, and Dwalin set the hot mug in his hand, steadying it until Balin had sat up and taken a sip. He waited until half the coffee was gone, then asked, "Do you still have any Elven salve? For Thorin..."

A white eyebrow rose, but Balin nodded. He pulled himself from his bedroll, and handed his brother the little container wrapped in silver leather. "He can have my bedroll then," he pronounced, "and I'll sleep with the lads." He stretched and yawned prodigiously while Dwalin explained about the defending ponies, and pointed him to the watch-fire. He would have left then, but Dwalin caught his hand. "Little brother?"

"I'm your little brother, right?" Dwalin asked in a rush, and as Balin nodded in bemusement he went on, "And you'll always love me more than Dori?"

Balin laughed, not ungently. "You'll always be my little brother," he said, bending down to knock their foreheads together, "no matter how big you get." It was an old joke and comforting. "And I'll always love you best. Don't worry about Dori at all. Just be good to his little brother, too, all right, Dwalin?"

"All right," said Dwalin, embarrassed and comforted at the same time. "I'll try to be good." He realized how childish that sounded, and also that alone with Balin, it was all right.

"That's my warrior." Balin hugged him and left with his coffee as Dwalin pulled off his boots.

Thorin arrived soon after, treading carefully in the dark, and Dwalin caught his hand and pulled him down. The king allowed himself to be arranged in the large, soft bedroll that Beorn had provided, and his head rested in Dwalin's lap. Dwalin took a fingerful of the wood-smelling cream and started rubbing Thorin's temples, and was rewarded by a startled groan that turned into a yawn halfway through. By the time he'd reached Thorin's shoulders, the king was asleep. Dwalin curled up behind him, and let Thorin's solidity and his gleaming draw him down into dreams.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riding to Mirkwood, and an old story.

Breakfast was bread from Beorn's, toasted over the campfire, with honey and clotted cream that was still fresh. Then it was back on the bridle-less ponies, and swiftly being carried east. Dwalin's mount -- he dared not name her, not knowing how she might think of herself -- had a long smooth stride, and he could almost doze as they rode. Dori, he saw with amusement, was knitting in the saddle.

Having no such soft occupations, Dwalin spent the time trying to explore his stone-sense. The landscape passed too quickly for him to get much impression of it, so he concentrated on his companions. Thorin really was the easiest to find, that hypnotic gold, the granite a steadying weight. Surprisingly, or not, Kili was next -- not an earthquake as Thorin had described, but moving and gleaming like tiger-eye being polished in a tumbler. He could find Nori easily enough, but not keep the sense of him; the coppery taste overwhelming for a moment and then slipping away, even while his eyes remained fixed on the elaborate peaks and braids. This was unreasonably frustrating, and Dwalin turned to try Gloin. Just then Bofur broke into song -- a funny, if tasteless, telling of the Six Wives tale -- and Dwalin was distracted into learning the chorus, and admiring Bombur's beautiful and hilarious descants. Dwalin did not have the range to try joining him, but by the third round he could manage Bofur's part. And when Ori joined Bombur he simultaneously came alight in Dwalin's stone-sense: a glittering fall of silvery slivers, light and sharp as snow.

They rode all day. Sometimes two or three would fall back and presumably dismount, then gallop back to rejoin the group, and at noon Bombur opened a pack and the pony carrying it wove among them, offering cheese and apricots and canteens full of warm cider. In the afternoon they stopped at a spring, filling up on water and unharnessing the ponies so they could roll, then repacking and remounting to ease their backs. This time Dwalin's mount was a thick-maned bay with a rolling gait. The ground became folded into ridges and hills, and he found himself holding that mane with both hands, a little unsettled at having no say at all in the path the creature chose. Then Kili shot a deer, and Thorin called a halt for the night.

They arguably didn't need the provisions, if travels went according to plan. Questing being unpredictable, the kill was a call for celebration and a feast. Dwalin helped Fili and Kili with the butchering, elaborated by the need to transform a dead animal into food that would keep in a pack. Bombur built a great fire with drying-racks, and Bilbo used the time to lay out a meal of multiple courses, with bread and cheese, roasted greens (even if only Bifur and himself would enjoy that), and a pudding with biscuits, fruit, and cream. The brothers Ri played a round on flutes, and Balin and Bofur accompanied them with handclaps.

Bilbo started bringing food around as soon as the meat was set to smoke and cure. Somehow the conversation meandered back to the story of the Six Wives, and whether it would more properly be considered the story of the Seven Kings. The inevitable argument began to brew between the sons of Durin and everybody else, until Balin forestalled them by saying, "We'll have the tale, with all its lessons, in the oldest form I or anyone I know has heard -- Ori, you'll recite it, please." His voice was mild and pleasant as always, but his tone did not imply a request that could be denied. "After the pudding, of course," he allowed, seeing Ori's expression, and poured the lad a generous measure of Beorn's wine.

The bickering died down into grumbles, which faded into happy and appreciative sounds over strawberries and peaches, as well as more wine. By the time the dishes were clean, everyone was looking forward to the story. Balin cleared his throat and beckoned to his student.

Ori coughed once, took another sip of wine, and came to his feet. For once, his back was straight, his gaze calm and level. Dwalin's sense of him altered a little, the silvery fall glistening with deeper colors, swirling as if a wind blew through it. Without preamble, he began in a deep, clear voice:

"We dwarves were the first of the Free Peoples. Mahal, blessed be he, made seven of us, working in secret beneath the mountains. His own parent called the creation presumptuous, and said we could never have a single thought of our own. Mahal was grieved and humiliated, and raised his hammer to destroy us. But in that moment the Sacred Fire kindled in the Seven, and they knew themselves living and threatened with death. Whether that was Mahal's doing or his parent's, or their own iron will, none can say. But the first thing we saw -- that any people ever saw in Middle-Earth -- was the hand that created us raised for our destruction. This teaches us to have faith and courage, even when those who should love us would cause us harm.

"The seven cried for mercy, and Mahal cried as well, and put his hammer and his shame aside. He spoke gently to the seven, told them of the world and of his love. But in deference to his parent, he separated them, setting each one alone under a different mountain, to sleep in darkness while the creation of the world went on. This teaches us patience and perseverance, because we waited for a long and lightless time at the beginning of the world.

"When the world was deemed ready, Mahal awakened his children. Each dwarf who could set about building things and bearing children, so in six kingdoms under stone, they were content. But Durin had been made with a hammer but no forge. He could build very little and bore no children. But he remembered the sound of other voices crying out along with his own, and what he most wanted was to hear them again. So he left Mount Gundabad where he had lain, and set out to find the rest. This teaches us to explore and discover what we need.

"First he came to the King of Ri," Ori smiled briefly at his brothers, for a moment a shy young dwarf again, silver-pale and pure. Then new shades filled Dwalin's senses again as Ori spoke: "Since the King knew no other dwarves, all his children were exactly like him. But Durin was a stranger, and they worked and spoke and sang together, and they fell in love. Then Durin kindled the King of Ri, and they bore the first children of our line. Then together the kings and their children wandered all of Middle-Earth. They met other kinds of Free People, some with love and some with hatred. But when they found other dwarves, they built together, and loved, and kindled anew and bore more children. This teaches us to greet strangers kindly, because we never know when or where we will find those we can love."

Ori paused, his eyes searching the small, silent group. "And every quest since Durin's will teach us something new. This night and every night, we must ask: What are these new things? What can I learn? And what will I create?" With that formal lapse back into the singular, Ori bowed slightly, then went loose-limbed and somehow back to himself as he sat down. "How was that?" he asked Balin, who clapped him on the shoulder.

"That was wonderful," said Dori, reaching over to clap Ori himself. Nori whistled, and Bombur muttered, "I heard that the first Durin came to was the King of Ur," for which Bifur cuffed his ear before turning to kiss Ori's hand.

"The important bit is why the Sons of Durin are, well, the Sons of Durin," said Ori to Bombur, quite earnestly, "and the rest of us have our houses from our bearers. The tradition is as old as the first dwarves born in Middle-Earth."

Bilbo looked deeply perplexed, but before he could make more than two murmuring, quickly-fading attempts to form what he seemed to feel would be awkward questions, Tharkun came abruptly to his feet. "A very fine telling," the wizard said to Ori, who blushed. Bilbo seemed to be similarly blushing as Tharkun took his hand and led him away, though Dwalin didn't know why that should be. Perhaps hobbits had thought themselves the first of creation, he thought, and lit a pipe to ponder the beginnings of the world and the ways of people and stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarvish origin story taken mostly from the Silmarillion chapter 2. Reproductive details by your humble author.


	48. Chapter 48

Tharkun and his long-legged horse ranged restlessly around the ponies. Dwalin wished he could as well. The plains were broad and stoneless, and thunderclouds massed in the distance. Once he thought he spotted a bear, a huge one, as the light began to fade from the day. He turned in his saddle and saw Bilbo pointing in the same direction and calling the wizard, who hushed him, so Dwalin said nothing.

The herd kept moving well into sunset, stopping only when Bombur began to complain. They camped near one of the creeks on the map, beneath three trees that reminded Dwalin of the shelterless architecture in Rivendell. Dori and Nori unpacked while Dwalin tramped the tall, coarse grasses and carried stones to make a safe place for a fire. The brothers stayed close, working together. Bifur and Ori came to help, making short work of building the hearth and favoring Dwalin with identical broad, smug smiles. Dwalin felt himself glowering, then made himself turn and walk away towards the water.

Fili and Kili greeted him. They were naked in the shallows, despite the evening's chill, and huddled together as they washed. Gloin was tending to Oin's braids, and Balin to Thorin's. Dwalin grunted at the lot of them, shed his clothes, and threw himself down in the creek. Cold water sluiced over his head and rocks dug into his skin, and he came up gasping. "Don't drown yourself, brother," called Balin, peaceably enough.

Dwalin snorted back, which he decided should be excused because his nose was full of water. Then he ducked under again and stayed down until the choking chill threatened to overwhelm him. He came to his knees and coughed, then shook like a wet dog. "Dwalin?" Thorin sounded concerned.

"I'm fine," he called back. He felt better than he had all day, shivering in the darkness, his bodily sensations overwhelmed and his stone-sense engaged by agates in the creek. He dug his fingers through the rocks, letting greedy instinct guide him. When his teeth were clacking and his cupped palms filled with smooth stones, he walked back to the shore, and showered his brother and his king with his finds.

"Very nice," said Balin approvingly, and Thorin laughed, reached for Dwalin's hands and pulled him down between them. Their skin was warm against his, and their fingers combed through his hair and beard. Dwalin relaxed into the attentions of his dearest family. It was soothing to be among those he'd known for all of his life, or all of theirs. After months of travel, the Houses of Ri and Ur were hardly strangers to him, and Dwalin had certainly found comforts there -- but they could never replace his brother's hands easing the stiff place beneath his left shoulder, or the ends of Thorin's braids tickling his back. He let out a long sigh that ended in a groan.

Thorin laughed at him again, and Dwalin wound an arm around his cousin's waist, spreading himself across both laps. He was far too tall to fit regardless, but it felt wonderful to be held and cradled like a child. He wondered distantly if this was something like what Nori meant by _safe_ , then put all thoughts of Nori firmly out of his head.

This worked for a timelessly pleasant time, until the thief arrived himself, calling everyone to dinner. Dwalin huffed with a sort of indignation, but rolled off his relatives and put on his clothes. He wasn't as hungry as he should have been, and spent awhile tucking agates into his pockets. When he finally moved back towards camp, though, there was Nori, silent and not quite imperceptible.

Dwalin stopped. The rest of his family had gone on ahead, and there was only the soft sound of water running over rock. Then Nori reached out, tentatively, and touched Dwalin's arm.

Dwalin felt its warmth through his sleeves and shivered, then covered the delicate hand with his own. Nori sighed softly, clasping Dwalin's bicep. They exchanged not a word, but walked side by side back towards the light of the fire.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Mirkwood.

The edge of the forest was as abrupt as a cliff. Trees towered two hundred feet overhead, tangling branches from roots to crown. The road, such as it was, was outlined with a scrollwork of vines as thick as Dwalin's wrist. It took them the better part of the morning to find it, the ponies sniffing and pawing at the tussocks of grass that grew in the forest's shadow, Tharkun's great horse striding ahead and behind. And when they spotted the gate, the ponies spun into a milling, stamping herd. Dwalin sat through it with relative ease, but half the party grabbed for non-existent reins before the animals sorted themselves out in their usual neat rows to be dismounted and unpacked.

The luggage was reconstructed into dwarf- and hobbit-sized backpacks, and everyone was sad to see the clever ponies go. Worse was Tharkun, who was off to his business down south, saying rather callously, " I am already late through bothering with you people. We may meet again before all is over, and then again of course we may not." He then commended Bilbo to them, which Dwalin thought was rather rubbing in the point. The little fellow was a part of their Company, but the wizard was not, and it was discouraging to have their number so diminished in the roiling shadows of the trees. Tharkun whirled his horse about and rode away, and the ponies trailed after him, glancing back over their shoulders. Dwalin waved. Tharkun's last words drifted back, "Good-bye! Be good, take care of yourselves -- and DON'T LEAVE THE PATH!"

"Good-bye and go away," grumbled Gloin, and everyone else grumbled along because it was more comforting to be annoyed than afraid. They arranged themselves in single file, Fili in front and Kili behind him, Dwalin bringing up the rear. Thorin tried to start a song but it fell to nothing before the first verse was completed.

If the plains had been shelterless, Mirkwood was a trap. The air was dank and still, and sounds were muffled by lichens and mosses and great mats of cobweb. The stones underfoot were broken, lifted and cracked from beneath. The trees rose all around them, impossibly dense with branch and leaf, and the path dodged through them like an animal in fear of pursuit.

The afternoon had been dim, but darkness fell abruptly, blacker than pitch. The forest came alive with sounds, insect scratchings and stutterings, branches creaking without wind. Fili and Kili collected fallen branches and Oin lit a fire, but it only made the night more ominous -- great eyes glared at them from every angle, incandescent orange and yellow-green, faceted and strange. Everyone pulled close together, keeping the stones of the path beneath them, as Bombur passed out a cold supper of venison and water, followed by jam cookies that tasted like summer in a memory.

"We must stay on the path," said Thorin, unnecessarily. Nobody wanted to leave the comfort of even these thin, battered paving-stones. They arranged their generous bedrolls close together, working almost entirely by touch, and set up the watch: first Balin and Bifur, then Dwalin and Dori, and lastly Thorin and Gloin. Dwalin would not have expected to sleep, even with the two whom he might have trusted best keeping guard. But shortly after they had settled, Bifur began to sing in a low, rough voice -- a children's song in Khuzdul, about a mountain made of sugar, full of balloons and your friends and everybody's parents. Balin joined in, and by the third verse Dwalin was dreaming about candy and toys.

He woke to Balin's familiar hand on his shoulder, into a night brutally darker than his dreams. "Your watch, sleepyhead," said a low voice in his ear, and he sat up. A canteen was thrust into his hands. "I still have this from Rivendell," Balin whispered. "For staying awake, if you need it."

"Thanks," said Dwalin, though he could hardly believe he had slept at all. The night still roared with insectile buzzes and chirring, and an occasional whine so high-pitched it set his teeth on edge. He tucked in his brother, pulled on his boots, and crawled around the massed bodies to find Dori sitting up at the group's edge. His pipe glowed like a tiny sun in the uncanny night. "Evening," said Dwalin cautiously.

The pipe bobbed as Dori nodded, and Dwalin lit his own pipe and took a comforting draw. The watch-clock ticked slow and steady, just audible beneath the animal racket. Dwalin settled himself, allowing memories of worse nights to pass through his mind and be dismissed, leaving him quiet and present. As he accustomed himself to each individual song and cry, a sudden shriek rent the night, louder than a dwarf could scream. Keeper fell into his hand and he was on his feet, and the sound was followed by a low growl of disappointment, and perhaps the creak of a high branch above the path far behind them. Dwalin waited a moment, said calmly, "Clear," and sat back down.

There were some murmurs and disturbed snores among the sleepers, then all was as quiet as it had been. Dori had dropped his pipe, and was scrabbling about for it. Dwalin lit a twig just long enough to help Dori find it, then blew it out. He had seen the porter's beautiful eyes blown with terror, and noted the trembling in the strong hands. If Dori had been almost anyone else, Dwalin would have offered to share the pipe, and perhaps a comforting handclasp. As it was, he could think of nothing, and finally Dori said, "I haven't slept a wink. I'm perhaps a bit on edge."

Dwalin nodded into the darkness, watching the flame as Dori re-lit his bowl, seeing the small sun tremble and rock as Dori's jaws worked. "You won't watch tomorrow," Dwalin said, knowing he'd make sure of it. "Ask Oin for something to help you sleep?"

"I will," said Dori, sounding both fretful and resigned. "I suppose it's too late to make coffee now."

It was, given that they had no fire, and a cold brew would take hours to make. Dwalin considered the canteen in his pocket, decided to offer it, with caution. "I've got something from Rivendell," he said, "They made things for Balin and Thorin, staying up for the moon-letters. They didn't use this kind, so we kept it."

"May I have a bit?" Dori's voice was diffident.

"If you like," said Dwalin. "It's from the elves. They gave us three and none of us have had this one."

"I'll risk it," said Dori dryly. "I'm less than half-awake now, and that part's all nerves." Dwalin did not find that statement reassuring, but passed over the canteen anyway. Dori was certainly stronger, but Dwalin felt he could rely on his training and his better state of mind if things went terribly wrong. Dori took a deep slug, coughed a bit, and asked, "How much should I drink?"

"Less than half for sure," said Dwalin, "since it was made for two -- stop now and see what happens?"

Dori nodded again, and it seemed to Dwalin that his pipe glowed a little more steadily. They sat in relative peace for a while, until Dori paused to repack his bowl. Once it was lit, Dori said abruptly, "I've been in Mirkwood before, you know."

Dwalin managed not to choke on his own pipe. "Care to tell?" he asked, in what he hoped was a gentle, neutral voice.

"It was far from here," said Dori. His voice was soft and steady, and definitely awake now. "Along the north edge. There are no roads there, or none that I could find." He paused, puffed. Dwalin did not interrupt, and eventually Dori went on in the same mild tones, "My lads and I were walking between Men's towns. We had a little job, some letters and packages to deliver. We weren't on a road -- Mirkwood's north isn't like its west, not nearly so abrupt, and we were picking blackberries as we went. It was a beautiful, beautiful day. But Nori spotted some tall folk on horseback -- Men or elves, I couldn't tell -- and I remembered the Petty-dwarves. There were half a dozen of them, and only me and my two tiny brothers. So we ran into the trees to get away."

Dwalin might have liked it if the story had ended there, but that seemed unlikely. After a few more smoky breaths, he prodded, "And then?"

"Well." Perhaps Dori had been finished, or hoped he was. "Same as on the road, or nearly. It was dark as caverns before we were three trees deep. I don't remember any cobwebs, but there were great black squirrels clucking at us for intruding, and ivy everywhere. We walked until we found a little rock to rest on, and Nori and I had blackberries and Ori nursed -- he was still that little! Night fell and I bundled up the boys to rest, and stayed awake all night myself, clutching the biggest branch I could find. Such sounds... frankly I was terrified, and twice I leapt up and lashed out, but only tripped myself up in the darkness. Eventually it became all of dim again, but we were quite lost. The sun was setting by the time we found our way out."

"Not quite so grim as Tharkun --" Dwalin began, but Dori interrupted.

"No, it was grim, I can't even say but you can see it -- feel it -- it's all around us --" he gestured, the glowing pipe dancing like a firefly. "We had no path at all, very few stones, it was all trees and darkness and the strangest eyes. I was singing for my little ones, but they were hungry and weary before long, so I carried them. And secretly I was terrified, what if we were always lost, if we never found our way out? I tried not to show it, because it would have been worse for my boys, but every step I took I was more afraid than the last. When I saw the glow of sunset I started running, it might have been a hundred yards -- but I collapsed as soon as I was out in it, and Nori had to go find us water." Dori sniffed, and Dwalin wondered if he was crying. "You know," he added confidentially, "I think it was actually two whole days we were in Mirkwood that time. When we reached the town, the calendar was a day later than I expected."

Dwalin shuddered. That unnerved him more than any other detail, what with Durin's Day coming and neither stars nor moon overhead. He listened to the tick of the watch-clock and picked it up to feel, and was a little surprised to discover they had only a few minutes left. He was certain now that Dori was crying, in small gasps under his breath. For the first time, he could feel Dori with his stone-sense, bands of iron and salt, twined around with mithril like the ivy on these trees. On the strength of it, he took Dori's arm, and said quietly, "It's all right. You got out then and we will now. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Dori broke at that, almost falling into Dwalin's shoulder, silky beard soaked with tears. Dwalin patted awkwardly at Dori's back. The watch-clock ticked over with a soft chime, and Dori said shakily, "Might you take me to Balin, please?"

"Of course," said Dwalin, a little surprised but not displeased. "Come on," and they crawled back to Dwalin's own bedroll. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said, shaking Balin a little, "you've got a guest."

To Balin's eternal credit, he asked no questions, only took Dori in his arms while Dwalin removed his boots and tucked them in together. "There, lad," he murmured, "come here, my dear." Dwalin backed off, and went to wake up Gloin and Thorin and pass off the clock. He decided against giving them the canteen.

Back at his own bedroll, the sounds of crying had changed. The words now were "oh" and "yes" and "my dear", and the gasps sweeter, and kissing audible beneath the forest's creak and roar. Dwalin could not stop a huff of some emotion among amusement and satisfaction and deep relief. He looked through his stone-sense again, and found the electrified copper of Nori quite nearby. He crawled towards it, and a voice said in the darkness, "Hullo, guardsman."

"Hullo, thief." Dwalin was already taking off his boots. "Your big brother's borrowing mine, all right if I take you in trade?"

"I'm not as restful as your brother," said Nori ruefully. "I haven't even fallen asleep yet."

"Perhaps a big warrior with axes will help you feel safe," Dwalin whispered, laying those axes alongside the bedroll and climbing in. He took Nori in his arms, feeling a rush of warmth and pleasure at the small, familiar shape. He tipped his head to kiss Nori on the neck, then bit down lightly just to feel him shiver. "That's my good lad," he said approvingly. "I've got you. Now go to sleep."

It was a struggle, but Dwalin stayed awake himself until Nori's breath grew deep and even in his arms. Then he surrendered himself to the darkness, trusting that morning -- some morning, however dim -- would find them in good enough time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Singing is often preserved even when speech is lost due to brain damage. Bifur's song is inspired by, though not exactly the same as, Neil Young's "Sugar Mountain".
> 
> The canteen contains a drink including yohimbine, known as both a stimulant an an aphrodisiac. It may also provoke memories of trauma. I'm so sorry, Dori!
> 
> The wizard's and Gloin's comments lifted from JRRT's text.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deeper into Mirkwood.

Dwalin would not have awakened if the watch-clock hadn't sounded its chime. It was still very dark, though possibly not quite as black as it had been over the midnight. There was a vague greenness to the air, and he could see two shapes that must be Thorin and Gloin, and hear them muttering over the time.

Nori was still asleep, curled into a warm little bundle, and Dwalin reluctantly let him go and stood up. He left his boots off, appreciating the feel of the paving-stones, and picked his way around the huddled mounds of sleepers to his cousins. "Is it really morning?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"According to the clock it is," said Thorin dubiously, at the same time as Gloin replied "Six bowls of good pipeweed, it had better be." All three of them sighed.

"I'll make coffee." Dwalin felt as rested as he ever did after a second-watch night, which wasn't much. He did not want to start a fire, either, nor to open the elves' canteen after the previous night's events. In the green dimness he rummaged through Bombur's packs -- the quartermaster did not stir -- and found a peculiar kettle from Beorn's, with the firebox beneath and the chimney around the water chamber. It did not work as well as he hoped, or perhaps it was simply still too dark out. A moth the size of his hand immolated itself on the chimney-flame, turning the smoke greasy and sharp. But the sound brought Bombur guiltily from his bedroll. He never stood watches, and was usually making coffee himself before the sun began to rise. He muttered apologetically, pulled out a tin of jam biscuits, and put them between Dwalin and the coffee grinder. Placated, Dwalin took the pastries and withdrew.

Everyone else was still sleeping, even Bofur and Bilbo, who had been overturned by Bombur getting up. Dwalin wandered through the packed campsite, nibbling absently. Fili and Kili were a single vague lump under their blankets. Ori and Bifur lay back-to-back, weaponry at hand, like a manuscript illustration of shield-brotherhood. Dori's mithril pelt gleamed faintly in the shadows, and he sprawled entirely on top of Balin, like a manuscript illustration of something else. Dwalin looked at them for longer than might have been polite, then suddenly realized he'd eaten a good third of the biscuits. He returned to Nori, and tucked the tin away in one of the "supplies as needed" spaces in Nori's pack.

It did not get any brighter. When the coffee was ready, Bombur added honey or not according to everyone's taste, and went around waking people with mugs in their hands. There was a low murmur, but the usual morning bustling and chatter was muted. The awful insect nightsong had faded, but no bird or animal noises had replaced it, and the forest was hushed except for the creaking of trees. Without formal discussion, everyone shouldered their burdens and took up the narrow path again, a silent single file moving east.

Time passed strangely. Nobody knew when noon was, but eventually Bombur halted and passed around lunch. Darkness fell like a curtain, and Dwalin felt like that happened far too soon, but the watch was arranged and another meal provided, and everyone did their best to sleep. This time the faint brightening in the air happened after a mere two turns of the watch-clock plus a quarter of an hour or so, but nobody wanted to waste any daylight, so coffee was brewed and the march over broken stones resumed. Day after day, or whatever these dim variations were, passed in this irregular manner. Dwalin slept better than many, with Balin or Thorin or Nori or Bifur as dictated by the watch-list and their other companions (he didn't mind sharing with Ori, but Dori still made him nervous). Bombur always remembered the honey for his coffee, and weird as Mirkwood was, screaming bugs and unpredictable hours were not as bad as war.

He and Bifur sat watch together in the pitch-black, listening to the by-now-familiar nocturne, holding hands and signing together. Dwalin had idly wondered what would happen if they killed a bat -- another reason they had given up on lighting fires; the darting animals were extremely unsettling. Bifur, though, was quite excited by the notion. _The wings,_ he noted rapturously, _to make such moving patterns, silent, quick-angled --_ he broke off into miming, fingers skitterng across Dwalin's palm, across the knuckleduster's blank band on his wrist, and onto his forearm. He paused there, then placed all his fingers together, and stroked back all the way to Dwalin's fingertips. Dwalin shivered.

The watch-clock chimed then, and Bifur turned it off with his free hand. His touch remained silent and waiting, until Dwalin signed back, _Stay with me tonight?_

 _Your thief's waiting,_ Bifur replied, the scrape of a fingernail a kind of punctuation.

 _The bedrolls are bear-sized,_ said Dwalin. _I'll lie between and keep you safe._

Bifur laughed, and it seemed to Dwalin that the insects were silent a moment in the wake of that sound. _Are you shield-brothers after all?_

Dwalin shook his head in the darkness, then signed quickly, _No. I swore to him, but he could not reply._ He thought about what discretion might allow him to confide, and decided it was worth asking. _If a dwarf swears an oath,_ he shaped carefully, mindful to use a politely generic form, _and the recipient dies before it can be fulfilled, what is its status?_

Bifur made a thoughtful humming sound. _You might ask your brother,_ he answered, _but by law, if the death was unexpected, the oath is forgiven by Mahal. If death can be expected,_ he added delicately, _effort should be made to fulfill the terms in advance. Do these involve the dangers of our quest?_

Dwalin felt perceptibly lighter, though Mirkwood remained blacker than the deepest underground. _No,_ he said, _nothing like that. Go wake up Ori and Fili, and come to rest with me._ He kissed his shield-brother's forehead, just to the side of the axe-blade there, and made his way across the paving-stones to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the book, when Bilbo climbs the tree, he can't see much of anything (except trees and butterflies) because they're in a deep valley. Whereas in the movie, he can see all the way to Erebor. Between these, I've decided that the road through Mirkwood is very twisty and hilly, so sunrise and sunset times can be greatly distorted by the landscape. Also, Thranduil being a great Elvenking from the First Age, I imagine he knows the Company is there and may not be above messing with them a bit -- so I am borrowing the "time passes strangely in the Elvenlands" trope seen far and wide in fairy tales. (And then there's the trees, which even Ent-less may have powers of their own... :)


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for more smut!

The bedrolls were indeed vast, and soft, though the comforting stone could still be perceived underneath. Nori was tucked into a far corner with his knees pulled up and his hands and feet bare. Unlike most dwarves, he did not snore, his breath coming light and quick. Dwalin wondered if he was dreaming.

Himself, he stripped -- no point in adding another night's sweat and wrinkles to his clothes, given that Mirkwood's darknesses seemed peaceful enough, despite the noise. Moreover, he was expecting Bifur, and although he figured Nori might be reasonably offended at having unnegotiated fucking going on beside him, Dwalin quite looked forward to the comfort of skin on skin. If Mahal's apron was twitching, and he still felt the heat of Bifur's fingers on his arm, that was nobody's business but his own.

That notion lasted just until he felt Bifur sliding in close behind him, sleek pelt and solid hammer gliding down his spine. Dwalin started trembling, and Bifur laughed quietly and kissed his shoulder. _Your thief watched us in Rivendell,_ he signed on the nape of Dwalin's neck, as if their conversation had never turned to oaths and laws. _With our king in the bath. The elves had spy-holes everywhere._

"What?" Dwalin spoke aloud, and Nori stirred. Dwalin waited for him to settle again before grabbing Bifur's hand and signing, _What happened? How do you know?_

 _Heard something behind the wall. Thought it was elves, didn't mind giving them a show._ Bifur refrained from laughing aloud, but Dwalin felt the ghost of it in the breath upon his back. _Your thief came out a bit later, wouldn't meet my eye. Wonder if he touched himself,_ he added, and withdrew his own hand to guide his heavy hammer along Dwalin's cleft. His gemstones pressed hard against the tender skin.

Dwalin gritted his teeth against a groan, even as his hips ground back imploringly. He snatched Bifur's hand back, leaving the hammer where it was, spreading him slightly. _We could ask,_ he signed. It might not be too late to negotiate.

He brought his hand around to Nori's shoulder, suddenly very self-conscious about the noise that speaking made. "Nori, love," he murmured, "will you wake? I want to ask you something...."

Dwalin felt Nori come to full alert without a muscle stirring. Not even his breathing changed, but there was a stirring in him like electricity through copper wire. "What is it?" said Nori, very low.

Dwalin stroked him soothingly, starting at his shoulder, ending with a steadying grip on Nori's bicep. He hoped, without much assurance, that Nori had not drawn a knife. "Bifur and I have been talking," he said, "and I hear you might have seen a thing or two, in the King's chambers, back in Rivendell." He took a deep breath, blew it out slowly to tickle the back of Nori's neck. "He's here now. Do you, do you want," he paused to stress the last word, "to watch us again? -- or feel and hear us, in this dark. If you want, we could touch you too." Nori was still and silent as a stone. "Or," he said very clearly, "he, or I, or both of us can leave, and you can go back to sleep." He waited another breath, then sighed. "All right then. No answer's as good as no." He dropped a brief kiss on Nori's cheek and withdrew his arm. He and Bifur could find another spot.

"Don't go," said Nori immediately, turning over. His thigh rubbed against Dwalin's apron, which tingled and curled back. Dwalin drew a sharp breath in, trying to remind himself firmly that he needed to keep Nori feeling safe, even while Bifur took the same moment to nudge his jeweled hammer a little deeper into Dwalin's behind. Dwalin groaned and Nori kissed him, and for just that moment everything was perfect, his every nerve alive and tingling with joy. Then Nori drew back slightly and added, "I won't take off my clothes."

"That's fine, however you like it," said Dwalin, still tingling, so that he could not help but ask, "Will you open them a little? I'd love to feel your skin, to suck your cock...." his breath drained away as Bifur bumped him again, harder this time, and signed on his back, _Yes, suck him, I want to feel you doing that._

"....All right." Nori parted his shirts, and Dwalin fell on him hungrily. Nori's fingers wound into his hair, and Dwalin put his hands on the small of Nori's back -- the pelt narrower there, so there was smooth hot skin beneath his palms, and wispy curls at his fingertips. Nori drew Dwalin's face up for a kiss, then guided him back down towards his paps. Dwalin first suckled the bare one until it grew rough-skinned and pebbly against his tongue and teeth, then turned to take the nursing-jewel between his lips, pulling and tweaking it. He heard Nori gasp above his head, and then that cut off as Bifur pushed up and claimed Nori's mouth in a kiss.

Dwalin let go, licking his lips, and whispered, "Nori, is that all right?" Nori couldn't follow Iglishmek with his eyes; he and Bifur could hardly be expected to negotiate together by touch.

The kiss went on for a long time, soft sounds of tongues moving, Nori's breath heaving in his chest. Dwalin hesitated, worried and dreamy and feeling the heat of their mouths deep in his own belly. Then Nori wove his fingers into Dwalin's beard, pressed his mouth back against the token piercing his pap. "Yes. Shut up," he said hoarsely, and the kiss resumed. Bifur's plaited beard dragged over Dwalin's scalp, and Dwalin rubbed up into it, taking Nori's pap into his mouth and pulling it along. Nori whimpered, high and thready, but his hands pulled hard on Dwalin's jaws, all encouragement. Dwalin licked across metal and gemstone and heated flesh, and felt a hot flash of satisfaction when Nori whimpered again.

Bifur's arm wrapped over them both, pulling Nori closer, pressing Dwalin tight between bodies. Dwalin felt a bit of the familiar irritation with his own size, but Bifur's hand dropped to his hip and signed, _You feel so good, so big and hard and solid, and your thief's mouth all hot and sharp on mine...._ before pushing around to take a loose, rolling grip on Dwalin's cock.

Dwalin gasped at that, turning his cheek into Nori's side, breathing in the warm, dank forest air. He heard himself groan out, "oh yes, so good..." not knowing if he was speaking for himself or translating for Nori's benefit. But Nori tugged his beard and Dwalin set his mouth back upon Nori's body, nuzzled between layers of knitted wool and ragged velvet, so hot he felt like he was blushing. He bit slowly down over Nori's sternum, starting a kiss with a bit of teeth in it, letting the pressure build until Nori whined. He felt a bright bolt of pleasure at that, and then his heart warmed as he released with a gentling pass of his tongue, inched his head a little lower, and began again.

When he reached Nori's belly, he felt the little ridge where Mahal's apron had withdrawn, and paused to lick a soft line around it. Nori moaned and bucked upwards, his cock rubbing into Dwalin's beard. Dwalin indulged this for awhile, then moved his hand from Nori's back to his hip, pacing him. His other hand reached down, stroked up Nori's thighs as he spread them, then reverently touched his forge (had the lad really kindled, in the arms of a girl-child of Men?) before moving to cradle his stones. Their angles had changed, so that Bifur's cock came closer to a penetrating position, and suddenly Dwalin wanted to whine himself and beg. He rolled his hips back, and heard Bifur's indulgent laugh. There was a brief rustle up by the pillows, followed by the frustrating and lovely combination of Bifur's studded cock replaced with a well-slicked finger. The only reasonable response Dwalin could make was to bend his head and press on Nori's hips until that silken hammer was poised at his mouth, and as Bifur breached him from behind, Dwalin drew Nori in.

If Nori was inclined to writhe and rush, Bifur tended to move softly and slowly, and Dwalin restricted Nori to that pace. If Nori was inclined to protest, it was only with clever hands that pulled at Dwalin's beard and hair, and that was a pleasure all its own. Dwalin rocked back and forth, slowly, feeling peculiarly powerful with a hammer at each end of him, and his own hard and hot as a tool in the forge between. When Bifur moved his hand to Dwalin's hip and signed, _Going to fuck you, want to fuck you while you make him come, make him come for me please?_ Dwalin could only groan and suck suddenly hard, hoping that Nori's gasp and wail conveyed agreement, as Bifur pushed in and began to move.

If Dwalin had thought of power before, now he seemed like a small part of something even greater, hot and heavy and moving like molten rock inside a living mountain. He felt his own heart pounding, Nori's pulse in his mouth, Bifur's weight and strength rocking his hips, and the glorious slide and press and stutter of Bifur's jeweled cock inside. He rode through in waves of pleasure, loving even the sting of sweat dripping into the corner of his eye, wishing only to coax the same love and pleasure through the bodies joined to his. There was copper, heated and molding itself to his will; there was green crystal in a black shattered stone, and he strained to coax it to glitter with light. Then Nori came with a hard thrust into Dwalin's throat, and he choked and swallowed around the salt-and-metal taste. His back was arched as Nori and Bifur clung hard to each other's shoulders, and all three of them cried out with a sound like stones moving together as Bifur followed.

There was a modest amount of clumsy wriggling and tugging before Dwalin realized that they were trying to pull him upwards. But he was heavy, and they were weak and gasping and laughing a little. He hauled himself between them, one head resting on each of his wide shoulders, their breath surprisingly cool on his neck. Then, as if sharing a silent, signless language, they moved on him together. Nori knelt astride Dwalin's belly, kissing his forehead and then his mouth, one clever hand teasing and tweaking at each of his paps. Bifur lay between Dwalin's knees, one still-slick hand pressing three fingers to reach and rub inside, the other cupping his stones as his length was slowly, slowly sucked in. Dwalin bucked and Bifur allowed it, his hand following and even supporting, his head tipping to keep contact and make room. Slowly at first, then with unstoppable force and speed, the feeling of molten lava filled him, throat and bones and belly, then skull and stones and cock -- and he exploded, as helpless before his own strength as a mountain erupting into a volcano, while Nori and Bifur clung to him. Then he was gasping, stars before his eyes in that blackest night. A little later, someone dripped cool water into his mouth while someone else wiped his skin with a soft cloth.

At last he was weightless, each of his arms wrapped around another's shoulders again, pinning him to the earth. He had a vague sense of obligation, that he should ask somebody something or check that something was all right, but he could not find any words. He heard the steady click of the watch-clock, the high buzz of insects and the irregular snoring of the company, soft gentle murmuring in his ears. Steadying hands stroked his beard, his belly, and his flanks, and he fell into sleep as deep as the darkness of Mirkwood itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we accept the notion that Nori is not only a thief, but also a spy. And, moreover, that Bifur is a pretty good spy-catcher, to the benefit of all.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, more Mirkwood.

The days, or approximations thereof, rolled by without much change. The dark times were always pitch-black, resounding with insects and occasional animal shrieks; the less-dark times a silent greenish twilight. The path wound crazily up and down hills, always among immense trees entangled by vines and undergrowth. Neither Bombur nor Bilbo could identify any of the mushrooms fruiting in great circles and overlapping shelves, and somehow that seemed the strangest part of all.

The company marched whenever it was light enough, which seemed to be a bit more than half the time. They went in single file, with an armed warrior in front and another in the rear, though nothing ever appeared to challenge them. Sometimes when they broke for a midday meal Bombur would light a stove and cook a hot meal, and prepare coffee to be kept insulated for the night and next day. Fires at night drew great dusty moths and bats like tattered rags, so they avoided them, and set double watches through the dark. Dwalin stood a watch every other night. Possibly the dullness that accrued upon him over time was lack of sleep, and possibly the same was true of Thorin's increasing snappishness, Kili's twitching, and Nori's tendency to skulk, head down, at the very edge of the paving-stones. Indeed, only Bifur -- who watched at least as often as Dwalin did -- seemed his usual self, striding along, murmuring snatches of old texts in Khuzdul, flourishing his spear. Even Ori at his side seemed fretful, head turning quickly this way and that as he peered into the shrouded forest.

Dwalin asked him about it, one evening as they unpacked the bedrolls. _This is not so bad,_ said Bifur, placidly chewing on venison jerky. _When I was first with my axe, the light was like this sometimes. Some of the sounds, too,_ he added, as a hard-winged creature shrilled up and down its octaves. Dwalin shuddered.

There was a storm that night, though mercifully little water reached the ground. But thunder roared overhead, and raindrops hit the canopy as loud as hail. Each bolt of lightning gave a stunned glimpse of tree-trunks like troll-stones, flying creatures tossed on the wet wind, and the corpse-pale hands and faces of the company. The darkness lingered for four full turns of the watch-clock. Everyone was awake by the end, clutching one another and shivering despite the humidity heat. Bombur passed around cider and chamomile biscuits, which helped a little. When finally the silence and dim green light returned, it was as welcome as the brightest of dawns over a mountain.

Water continued to drip slowly from the leaves as they walked, offering the choice between having one's pate (if one wore it bald, like Dwalin) periodically spattered or sweating constantly under one's hood. Within the hour he made his choice and packed his hood away, cursing aloud at random intervals when he got wet again. Eventually Bifur came over, clucking like a hen, and tied an oilskin cloth around Dwalin's head. If it had been anyone else, Dwalin might have cuffed them; as it was he muttered some kind of thanks and tried not to dwell on how ridiculous he must look.

The path turned almost straight for awhile, which was almost a relief until Thorin mentioned that they were headed almost due north, not eastward at all. Before long, the reason why became clear: there was a wide stream, swollen with the previous night's rain, running almost silently to their right. Balin repeated Beorn's warning against the forest's waters, and everyone nodded gloomily. It would have been so nice, Dwalin thought, if it were a proper river, and they could cool down and wash up. But his first glimpse of the water, black and slick as fresh ink, made him cringe. It was somehow worse than the trees and cobwebs and insects, a distortion to his senses. He could not feel any stone where a riverbed should be.

Then as they navigated a turn where the earth had fallen away beneath the paved path, where the water rushed ten feet below, Bombur cried out -- a loud pained sound between a gasp for breath and a groan. Dwalin, at the end of the line, saw him fall to his knees.

The hobbit was just by him, and only quick soft steps kept Bilbo from being pushed into the stream. Bofur and Oin were nearby, and they seized the quartermaster before he could tumble down entirely. His breath heaved and his eyelids were swollen and heavy. By the time they had pulled him to safety, he was entirely unconscious, and snoring fit to wake the dead.

Oin shooed everyone back except for Bombur's brother and cousin. First he called Bombur's name, and had Bofur do the same, and Bifur to sign on his hands and then his face. Bombur murmured briefly and pushed the fingers away, but otherwise did not stir. Oin went methodically through his cases, trying first a chiming bell, then smelling salts, to no avail. He ordered a lamp lit, and though he brought it close enough to start singeing Bombur's whiskers, the large dwarf only slept on.

"It's the water," said Ori, voice soft with horror. "Beorn warned us, and I read about it in Rivendell. It brings unending dreams. But I thought you had to drink it, or at least get it on your skin...."

Bofur wailed, his head falling on his brother's insensate breast. "He's a cook," Bofur sobbed, "he's got the best sense of smell, it's why he's so good at mushroom-hunting...." Bifur clasped Bofur's shoulder silently, his other hand woven into Bombur's great beard, with tears on his face as well.

"Best we leave this place," said Thorin abruptly, as if anyone would argue. Nor did anyone stop Dwalin from taking his axes to low branches and vines, and Fili, Gloin, and Kili helped him to assemble a large, strong travois. They secured Bombur to it, and redistributed his considerable burdens among the rest of the party. Then Gloin and Bofur slung the shafts over their shoulders, leaned in and pulled on.

Everyone took turns with the pulling, and everyone was anxious to make progress, so in the end they were only a little bit slower than before. Then the path took a long swing winding northwest, according to Thorin, before reorienting itself almost directly due east. This news was received gratefully, and for awhile they made very good progress indeed. But then they reached a clearing, a broad paved area with only a few smallish trees poking through here and there. They could even see the sky above, remote and dreamy and deeply blue. But at the end of the paving-stones was the beginning of a wide and gracefully arched wooden bridge, which was snapped entirely apart no more than fifteen yards out. Many feet below, the black water swirled silently around its carved and shattered remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considerable liberties here with canon. owning my vanity, i like my version of events better :)


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little further East, with great effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for incredibly long delay! It had to do with ponies.

They set up camp by the bridge. The paving-stones there were wide enough to spread out, but for the most part they didn't, huddling as close as on the winding path. In the center, Bombur lay on his travois, pillowed and blanketed and attended by his family and Oin.

Dwalin defined a perimeter, lighting a ring of small fires a comfortable distance away. The ribbon of sky dimmed slowly through its blues, and eventually Durin's Crown glittered at its apex. Thorin hummed with pleasure, and Dwalin's heart surged. Bifur, still holding his cousin's hand, began singing nonsense in his rough voice, and Fili and Kili joined in improbably sweet harmony. Dwalin wished for his lost viol, but contented himself with his voice. Soon all the Company were singing together, almost basking in the wholesome clarity of the night. Then there was a brief, polite cough from the hobbit, and as the harmonies faltered, Bilbo said, "Suppertime!"

It was not a meal Bombur would have made, and not, Dwalin supposed, one Bilbo might ordinarily have either. There was potato-crusted venison pie -- apparently the little fellow had braved the moths and bats to heat an oven, and somehow (Dwalin hoped) kept the vermin out of it. There was a cobbler of sorts made with biscuits and blackberry jam, and chamomile tea brewed so strong that it tasted, as it cooled, like summer wine.

Bifur and Bofur struggled to feed Bombur, but although he smacked his lips he made no move to swallow anything, not even water. Eventually Oin arranged an uncomfortable-looking array of tubing and dosed him with a tincture of something unpronounceable and possibly Elven. Dwalin had seen a great deal of healers' arts, but he had to look away from that.

Dwalin was not set for a watch, and Thorin beckoned him into his own bedroll. Dwalin lay down gratefully and Thorin pulled him close, whispering like the lad he had been in Erebor. "We can build a boat," he said, and Dwalin replied, "We can push paving-stones into the water, and make a better bridge." Then Thorin tried "We can find a place where the branches touch overhead, and climb through trees like squirrels," which made Dwalin laugh. It was deadly serious, of course; they could not stay, nor turn back, nor leave the path. But he went on with, "Kili shoots an arrow with a rope into a tree on the other side, and everybody swings across," and Thorin said, "Bifur carves us all wings, and everyone will fly." That jolted Dwalin, as Thorin could not remember the Eagles, and instead of answering he kissed Thorin hard on the mouth. Thorin held Dwalin tight, and when the kiss broke he murmured, "My diamond." Heavy-ringed fingers stroked the back of Dwalin's neck, and he relaxed under that warm, living touch and fell asleep.

He awoke with Balin at his back and a ribbon of dawn overhead, feeling much better than circumstances might warrant, and got up to put out the watch-fires. Bofur and Thorin sighed, stretched, and stood down -- Dwalin had argued once that double watches seemed unnecessary on the Mirkwood path, but nobody really believed him, and despite Dwalin's official role Thorin had continued to assign them. Soon Dori and Bilbo were up, arguing over whether to make coffee or tea, and how stale bread would taste if toasted, with or without butter and with or without jam. Dwalin walked over and said "Coffee," then beat a hasty retreat before Dori's glare. Dwalin huffed, as coffee had been Dori's side. Some people you couldn't even agree with.

He sat down at his bedroll again, reclining on Balin's pillowy belly and staring at the strip of summer sky. They needed to scout, even though that would mean leaving the path. For the first small forays, ropes could be used, and certainly new trail-markings would be required. Since the river's vapors were also potentially poisonous, they should not risk Company members with sensitivities like Bombur's -- that meant the hobbit stayed in camp, and Dori and Oin as well. Bofur and Bifur were probably safe, Bifur possibly safest of all, if they could be persuaded to leave Bombur's side. Fili and Kili could go, preferably attended by someone more sensible, which probably meant himself or Gloin. Nori, Ori, and Thorin he deemed capable, but Dwalin hated to risk any of them; each seemed uniquely irreplaceable.

Over breakfast (bread pudding, coffee *and* tea -- but no honey, which Dwalin found depressing) the company planned. The first foray would be Fili and Kili, on ropes, to the end of the bridge. They could look both upstream and down by daylight, as well as determining the width of the gap and the state of the opposite shore. Then Ori, prodded by Dori, said he should go in case something they saw needed documenting. Dwalin, Bifur, and Gloin would take charge of the ropes.

As Bilbo and Dori argued over how to do the washing-up, the youngest members of the Company set out on the bridge. Bifur insisted on being attached to Ori, so Dwalin had Fili and Gloin took Kili. They sat well back on the paving-stones as the scouts advanced. When Fili stepped from the stone abutment onto the wooden deck, it felt to Dwalin as if he'd fallen, and his hands clenched on the tether. Fili turned and was suddenly vivid in Dwalin's stone-sense -- a great rough stone with facets shining every shade of yellow and gold, looking soft as amber but feeling perfectly crystalline. Dwalin swallowed and waved him on, and Fili nodded and continued. For the first time, as Fili picked his way across rotted timber, Dwalin knew him not as a student but as someone who could be King.

Unaware of this tumult in his potential subject, Fili was taking an armful of paint-pots from Ori, who was bent under an easel that, from its size, must have been Beorn's. Dwalin squinted, his stone-sense seizing upon Ori again, a fall of needle-sharp silver. Thorin was right, it was very distracting. The scouts walked into sunshine at the very edge of the bridge, and for a moment the three of them stood still, smiling and brilliant. Then Fili and Ori set up the easel, while Kili made his way to the very edge and knelt down to look into the water. Gloin grunted and tugged, and Kili called back, "It's all right, we're very high up!" Gloin grunted again, and the young dwarves set to their work.

It seemed like hours, though if the sun were reliable it probably wasn't, before they packed up Ori's supplies and returned. Thorin was waiting to hug them all fiercely together, which made Ori squawk; Fili and Kili were used to it, and pounded their uncle on the back. The illustrations got crumpled during that melee, and they unfolded them on the ground as the company gathered around.

"Some of this is just for the records," said Ori, sounding embarrassed, at a painting of a greenish, serpentine head reaching up from the black water's surface. "I never saw the like," he continued defensively, and Balin clapped his shoulder. "But this one," Ori hurried on, "Fili spotted this -- downriver, maybe a little more than a hundred yards? Do you think it looks like a boat?"

It did look something like a boat, though it was a black shape on black water. A high prow was drawn up on a dark-brown bank, unfortunately on the far side of the river. But if it could somehow be pulled across, it might present a very simple solution to their trouble with the bridge. Kili, nearly dancing with excitement, said he could certainly send an arrow into it, either a very heavy one to pierce the hull, or something rigged with a hook from their packs to catch an edge. Thorin pointed out that it might not be a boat after all, and Dwalin broke in before Kili could pout, saying they should eat lunch and then send a foray to investigate.

Lunch began with another argument between Dori and the hobbit. Meanwhile Bofur dug through the packs and found crackers and cheese and some apples, which he served with his disarming grin, so even Dori and Bilbo only exchanged dark looks and spoke polite thanks. Bofur's meal also had the benefit of requiring neither cooking nor cleanup beyond tossing away the apple-cores, and they were ready to go just as the sun cleared the tops of the trees. Kili had prepared an arrow with a long rope attached to it, and carried a full quiver from Beorn's. Dwalin brought a pack full of ropes.

The riverbank was short but steep -- apparently the black water was running high. Fili took the lead, threading among tree-roots and marking them with one of his knives, his brother close by and Bifur and Dwalin behind them. Their boots were peculiarly silent on the stoneless, muddy ground, and Dwalin saw Kili take his mother's runestone from his pocket. But before long they were close enough to see that there really was a boat -- an odd swan-shaped thing, with a tall prow and high carved sides.

Kili looked a bit glassy-eyed, but otherwise right enough, and Fili actually cheered. Bifur climbed up to loop rope around a great sturdy tree, while Dwalin set further lashings around heavy roots. As soon as they were all securely tied in, Kili settled into a well-practiced crouch, perfectly balanced on the muddy slope, and shot without hesitation. The arrow landed with a solid thunk, and Fili cheered again as Kili grinned. Both lads seized the rope and pulled with all their strength. But the boat didn't move, and when Dwalin put his hands behind Fili's, the tether snapped and fell into the water.

 _More ropes_ , signed Bifur, with a philosophical shrug. Kili sighed gustily and Dwalin unpacked more rope. Fili and Kili began to set up a full dozen of Beorn's heaviest arrows while the older dwarves waited. Even the motion of the water seemed hypnotic, and Dwalin tried to fix his gaze firmly on the sky, only to find himself dazzled and tears in his eyes. He wanted to suggest going back, or at least retreating upslope while they prepared the next volley. But they were already off the path, and firmly tied in. Ori would be doing his best to watch from the bridge, and Bofur and Thorin prepared to come after them within the hour if they had not returned. Dwalin closed his eyes and tried not to breathe too much.

Bifur rapped his scalp, which Dwalin found vastly irritating. _Don't do that,_ his shield-brother signed. _It looks like you're falling asleep._

"Sorry," said Dwalin, which caused both boys to turn and stare. "Hurry up," he said to them, and they returned to their work. They finished quickly enough, while Dwalin watched with fixed attention. Then Kili fired off eight arrows in rapid succession, striking at even intervals along the boat's side. Bifur and Fili both cheered this time, and Fili glared at Dwalin until he cheered as well.

"All right," said Kili, standing up with his face flushed. "Two ropes apiece now, that'll distribute the load." They repositioned themselves, and at Bifur's signed suggestion, braced themselves together and pulled on Dwalin's count. There was a groaning sound, altogether too much like the forest's voice of night, and the ropes strained in their hands. Then there was a long, ragged crack and the boat tore free of its mooring, and they were all whipped around as the current attempted to carry it broadside downstream. The roots twisted behind them as they struggled for their footing, but at least the loop at the tree held firm, and with great effort they were able to pull the boat towards their shore.

Dwalin was glad again of their precautions, as Kili looked as if he might jump right in. Instead they hauled the boat almost out of the water and lashed it to the bank. A torn-up tree-root still hung from the prow, attached by a silvery and deceptively slender length of rope. Inside were several very long oars, and quite a few spiders the size of Dwalin's hand. Bifur took up one of the former and used it to dislodge the latter, which he shook off into the water as they attempted to skitter towards him.

Fili entered the boat first, with Kili close behind. The arrows had driven straight through the 'wing' of the swan, and Kili wrapped up the tethers. Once they had the hang of an oar (it took both young dwarves to make any progress upstream), Dwalin and Bifur lashed the dangling tree-root to one of its relations on their side, collected all the rest of their ropes, and gingerly climbed into the boat. It lolled and lurched under their collective weight, but once they untied and pushed just far enough from the bank to float freely, they were able to row back to the wreckage of the bridge.

Ori, Thorin, and Gloin met them with glad shouts, and Kili tossed them the arrow-tethers. Together they were able to tie up below the bridge, and they staked another line to its foundation. Thorin and Gloin took the lads' places in the boat, and with four strong dwarves to row and the protruding wreckage of the bridge to lash onto, they made it nearly straight across the river in good time.

It took the rest of the daylight to move everyone and everything. Bombur remained profoundly unconscious, and by the time the narrow sky began to deepen into evening, Dwalin could not tell if he were beginning to be affected himself or was merely exhausted with rowing and carrying. There was virtually no bridge at all on the eastern side, only a bit of clearing with a few paving-stones scattered here and there, among which Dori and the others had set up camp. Dwalin carried the last of the bags up the bank, leaving only Nori down with the boat, picking industriously at the knot in the silvery rope. (It had not yielded to Nori's knife or anyone else's, and Dwalin thought it was the sort of bad deal Elven things usually were, but the thief had become preoccupied and would not been persuaded away.)

There was a little more sky visible above this site, and even a moon shining down as the sun set. There was almost a proper twilight, and Dwalin lay on his back in his bedroll, chewing dried venison and resting. Just as Thorin was naming watches and Dwalin was beginning to worry, he heard Nori's startled, merry laughter, and saw a small shadowed form emerge above the bank. "Did you get it, then?" he called out.

Nori came over, still laughing, and sat down by Dwalin's head. "I did," he said, "and you'll never guess how."

Dwalin snorted. "Some thieving trick," he said. Nori had re-knotted the ends together and doubled it around his hands, and was weaving a kind of cats'-cradle.

"Some kind," said Nori cheerfully, then leaned close. "I asked it nicely," he whispered, "and it came free in my hand."

Dwalin snorted again. "That might teach you a lesson," he said, amused. He carefully moved a little closer, leaning his cheek against Nori's thigh and wrapping an arm around his hips below the knives. Nori batted the silky rope at him, and Dwalin caught it and pulled his hand in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canons diverge, and I wind here and there among them, generally quite lost without the path....
> 
> Canon is also vague on the behavior of Elven rope, so I've gone with some notions I found personally entertaining.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood is confusing. Also, smut.

Beyond the bridge, there was no road through Mirkwood.

Somehow they avoided noticing this until morning. There were paving-stones scattered about the abutment, and a few under the trees, like pebbles near the shoreline after high tide. Several paths rambled away from the clearing, none much more than a footpath through the undergrowth. Many were marked with cloven hoof-prints, but the only sign of civilization was an empty, elegant oil lamp hanging above another. Thorin dug his heels in at that one, Elven as it seemed, and though Balin grumbled nobody really wanted to argue with the King.

Thorin's stone-sense was fixated on Erebor, and he insisted he could choose the best path that way. (Dwalin took a sighting by the sun, and believed that the lamp-marked path was also the most eastbound, but Thorin only looked baleful when he said so.) He took Fili and Kili scouting, weapons at the ready, marking their passage every twenty paces. Bifur trailed them like an anxious hound, and dragged them back each time Thorin tried to run them up or down cliffs or into masses of spiderweb. Dori and Bilbo continued to bicker about food, and periodically edibles were set out: first venison, then pickled onions, then pecans. They pitched an outright battle over some pears that were a bit past ripe, with the hobbit arguing that they should be boiled down into a sauce for later use, and Dori insisting that they be eaten as soon as possible to maximize nutrition. Dori won, if only because everyone else was hungry, and the fruit was gone before a cookfire was lit.

Dwalin lolled in his bedroll. The river crossing had been hard, and he was tired, and his bad shoulder hurt. He was in no mood to tromp down deerpaths after Thorin into the wilderness, though he didn't much like the notion of walking up to Thranduil, either. He had eaten three overripe pears and was nearly asleep again when Nori knelt down by his side.

"You don't seem very busy," said Nori, possibly sarcastically. Dwalin shook his head.

"Stupid place to be a soldier," he said. "Only thing that's attacked us was the river. Besides Bombur, only casualty is my bad shoulder." His eyes narrowed. "Spare an old veteran some elf-salve for his aches?" It occurred to him that Balin might, but that he would rather have it from Nori.

"Of course I would," Nori purred, knife-smile bright. "Come away with me," the thief suggested, "and we can put a few Elven creations to the test."

Dwalin knew he should be wary, but he did not want to be. "The rope," he said, not really asking, and Nori nodded.

"I want to try it with a person," he said, then ducked his head and added, "I want to try it with you."

Nothing could have gotten Dwalin to sit up faster. But he retained the sense to say, "We won't go out of earshot; the forest's too dangerous. If anything goes bad I yell for Balin." He could not have said if he meant for his brother to protect him from the endless Elvish evils that might lurk in the forest, or from the little thief with his singular Elvish rope.

Nori lifted his chin. "If anything goes bad, we call Dori," he said airily. Dwalin laughed.

"With any luck they'd come together." Dwalin dug around in the bedroll and pulled on his shirt. As he was doing up the ties, it occurred to him that he might not be able to swing his axes if he was having his shoulder worked on, let alone allowing Nori to have his way with that uncanny rope. He hesitated, fingers fumbling, and said, "You'll be armed?""

A braided eyebrow lifted. "Always," said Nori grandly, "and at your service, guardsman. You'll be fine without your bludgeons for an hour."

Dwalin might have bridled at Grasper and Keeper being called that, but he felt disarmed figuratively as well as literally. "Right," he said gruffly, and stood up to tie his trousers. He was less than half-dressed, but the day was warm, and there didn't seem to be any point in adding layers he was going to take off again. He loomed over Nori as the thief came to his feet, and continued to do so out of habit, or nerves.

Nori took Dwalin's hand and led the way to the path below the lantern. "We won't be disturbed here, not by anything I expect," he said, more than half laughing. Dwalin nodded reluctantly. Balin looked up and raised an eyebrow as they passed, and Dwalin nodded at him too; Balin quirked a grin and went back to writing in his notebook. The path was so narrow that Dwalin and Nori could scarcely walk abreast, but the ground was mossy, soft and clean beneath his feet. It twisted around great trees, just as the stone road had. Before they'd walked fifty paces it was as dim and deserted as any place in Mirkwood.

"This should do," said Nori, with what sounded to Dwalin like too much satisfaction. There were low vine maples here, and great tall oaks, and a blessed lack of spiderwebs and fungi. Nori sat cross-legged on the ground, grinning up at him. "Care to bring your aches within my reach?" he asked, and suddenly the stoppered jar was in his hands.

Dwalin lowered himself cautiously, acutely aware of the moment at which he ceased to loom, then gave it up and lay down flat on the path. "Behind the left shoulder," he directed, then grunted as Nori rolled him over to untie his shirt. He sat half-up so the sleeves could be slipped off, and did not protest when Nori undid the knots on his trousers as well. Nori clucked at Dwalin's lack of smallclothes, but said nothing as he rolled Dwalin over again. Dwalin shivered; the moss felt cool and velvety, like the brush of Nori's sleeves on his bare back.

Ignoring directions, Nori parted Dwalin's hair and began rubbing salve at the base of his neck. He hummed low and tunelessly as he worked, and his fingers were soft and wandering too, less like a massage than a caress. Dwalin murmured and Nori shushed him, still singing, still stroking as Dwalin sighed. Nori's clever fingers seemed to be drawing circles and writing runes on Dwalin's skin, then erasing them with long strokes of his palms. What the song lacked in melody it gave in hypnotic rhythm, slowing down Dwalin's breath, perhaps even his heartbeat.

The hands moved down Dwalin's arms, tracing the curves of his biceps, pressing in to relieve the tension there. Nori drew in his breath at Dwalin's battered fingers, then applied a generous amount of salve where blood-blisters had pushed up beneath the callouses. Dwalin's skin heated, not unpleasantly. When Nori moved to work on the soles of his feet, Dwalin groaned.

He thought himself used to long marches, inured to pain. What he was not used to was knuckles digging in against the strain in his arches, or soothing fingers working down the length of each toe. He wondered, dazed, if this was what it felt like to be worked in a forge, each joint and every surface made liquid and malleable. Nori progressed to Dwalin's ankles, his calves, the ticklish backs of his knees, his thighs -- he could have sworn his thighs were fine, but they must have only been numb, crashing back to sparks and sensitivity as Nori leaned his weight into his hands. Dwalin yelped, and Nori paused. "You all right?" he asked uncertainly.

"Aye," said Dwalin, after catching his breath. "Keep on, please? But gently..."

Nori snorted. "Big rough thing like you, asking for _gently_ ," he teased. He got more salve and went more slowly, working into the divots beneath Dwalin's hipbones, then slowly stroking his hands together across the muscles of Dwalin's arse. Dwalin groaned again, rocking back, feeling Mahal's apron quivering beneath him. Nori swatted him, not hard. "Hold still. I'm nowhere near your shoulder yet."

Dwalin had quite forgotten about his shoulder. He held still, more or less, and managed not to express disappointment when Nori did not set to relaxing a particular muscle in his behind. Instead, Nori sat on him -- soft mossy velvet, so light on his skin -- and began running his nails up alongside Dwalin's spine, parting the fur of his pelt. Dwalin shivered, stifling himself, struggling to keep still. At last Nori's hands reached Dwalin's shoulderblades, fingertips pushing hard into the scarred layer of muscle behind the left one, and Dwalin gasped in renewed pain.

Nori leaned forward, whispering "shush" into Dwalin's ear, nuzzling into his hair. Meanwhile both his hands went to Dwalin's shoulder, one bracing as the other pushed -- and suddenly Dwalin's ears were ringing and his breath coming fast. He felt like he had been cracked open, an empty space widening where the pain had been. He scrabbled and rolled over, pressing Nori into the soft ground. "What in Mahal's name was that?"

Nori was gasping now too. "I fixed your shoulder," he said. "I've done for Dori a thousand times. Get off!" Dwalin was inclined not to, Mahal's apron rippling low on his belly, the tip of his cock swelling against Nori's clothes. He pressed a quick kiss to Nori's mouth before pulling back, sitting on his haunches on the forest floor. He rolled his arm, experimentally. It didn't hurt.

"Mahal's name," he swore again, more reverently. "That you did." He laughed, circling his shoulder back and forth. "How shall I repay you?"

"You'll owe me," said Nori, smug now. "Meanwhile, let me finish what I started. And no more throwing me on the ground." That last sounded like a loss to Dwalin, and he was considering mounting an argument when Nori drew a coil of rope from within his vest. "Keep him comfortable," he said to it, "but hold him still."

It moved slowly at first, and Dwalin was transfixed, as if it were a snake. It slipped away from Nori, wrapped itself around a tree-root at the edge of the path. Then, quicker than a snake could strike, it had Dwalin by the ankles, the wrists, and a loop around his neck. He threw himself against it, by reflex but to no avail. Before he could try again he was stretched flat on his back, naked on the moss, his discarded clothes rucked up beside his head.

"Oh, very nice," said Nori, purring again and standing up. His knife-smile gleamed in the low light. Dwalin twisted experimentally -- he knew already that he and three other dwarves could not break this rope, but Nori smiled wider, watching. He dropped back to his knees by Dwalin's head, folding the clothes into a kind of pillow for Dwalin's head and neck. "I've got you, guardsman," Nori said, and how strange to hear that note of satisfaction in the voice of the thief.

Dwalin nodded, as much as the rope and the pillow allowed. Nori leaned forward and kissed him, pulled back and smiled when Dwalin couldn't follow. A long finger traced the scar through Dwalin's brow, across the broken bridge of his nose, then pressed upon his lips. Dwalin opened his mouth to suck it in, licking the sharp edge of Nori's fingernail, watching as Nori's eyes darkened in the dim green light. His hammer was fully exposed now, heavy and hot, jewels pressing into his own skin. He writhed, or tried to.

Nori laughed, a small delighted sound. "I've got you," he repeated, and Dwalin wondered if he had sounded that self-satisfied. Nori stroked Dwalin's tongue, then took his wet finger and sucked on it himself, looking like a child lost in thought. Then he put a hand on either side of Dwalin's neck, just below the rope, and stroked him down to his collarbones. He took another fingerful of salve, and set to working down the middle of Dwalin's chest. 

Dwalin was panting, which the rope allowed, sliding silkily across his throat. Nori took his time, rubbing Dwalin's shoulders out along his collarbones, down his sides, back across his ribs. He paused at Dwalin's paps, treated each one to its own minute touch of salve and a long, slow pull, then left them alone. Dwalin realized he was speaking aloud, a low stream of meaningless obscenities and pleas, punctuated by Nori's name; Nori smiled into his eyes when addressed, but didn't answer. He skirted Dwalin's hammer entirely, pushing his fingers deep into the lines where torso met thighs. The rope pulled Dwalin's legs apart so Nori could kneel between them, without a word spoken aloud. By now Dwalin was sweating and trembling in his confines, and Nori stroked his thighs and calves soothingly, strong and quiet in a way that reminded Dwalin of Shadowwalker. But Dwalin found it anything but calming. He needed to hold Nori, to touch him back, to show his strength and pin him down -- but he couldn't move. His cock throbbed on his belly with his heartbeat, like a rod being hammered. How could Nori be so cruel, seeing him wanting like that, and only touch his knees?

A long time later (or so it seemed to Dwalin), Nori smiled at him again. There was no knife in it, only a soft affection in his eyes. He pulled the jar of salve closer, took a bit and slipped it from the very base of Dwalin's spine to his hole, which he circled and gently pressed. Dwalin howled and bore down, and Nori's smile became even sweeter as he said, "No, my dearest, not right now, only paying my respects...." He trailed off as his fingers reached Dwalin's forge, which tingled strangely under the delicate exploration and the slick salve. Dwalin quieted too, and their gazes locked together. He saw Nori swallow, then dropped his gaze to Nori's free hand making quick work of his belt.

With his own hammer free of his clothes, Nori rocked back, bracing Dwalin's thighs apart with his knees and touching himself with both hands. Dwalin struggled again, reaching with all his strength, unable to move and unable to stop trying. Nori watched him, mouth open and hands flying fast, for what seemed to Dwalin like an eternity. Then suddenly his hands slowed, and he leaned forwards and claimed Dwalin's mouth in a biting kiss. He reached down and ran slick fingers over Dwalin's jewels, then pressed Dwalin's cock alongside his own and thrust against it. The pleasure of it, the sliding silken heat of Nori's flesh and grip and salve, tore away the ragged remains of Dwalin's control. He bucked up hard into Nori's hands, bit down hard on Nori's ear. One of them started coming, and the other followed half a beat later, shaking and spending and groaning together in rough near-harmony.

When they had finished, Nori lay still, his light weight warming Dwalin like a fur. "Let him go," the thief said, and the rope slid off obediently, then coiled itself between them and vanished back inside Nori's vest. Dwalin immediately enfolded Nori in his arms, holding him as hard as he'd been restrained himself. "You've got me too," Nori said, half-laughing, as Dwalin clung and kissed his cheek. Nori allowed this for a few moments, then squirmed away and stood up. He picked a handful of damp leaves from the maple -- it might have been raining, high above the forest canopy --and got himself cleaned up and tucked away while Dwalin lay on his side and watched. He returned to his side with a fresh handful, and cleaned Dwalin with precision and delicacy.

"Safe as houses," he pronounced, as Dwalin shivered under the cool touch of the leaves. "Safe as mother's milk." Dwalin did not answer, curling his body around the smaller dwarf. He felt strange and raw, and nothing hurt at all. Nori pulled over the bundled shirt and trousers, shook them out, and dressed Dwalin as if the warrior were a very large version of a very young child. Then he pulled Dwalin to sit, and looked in his face with some concern.

"Aye," said Dwalin, much too late. "Perfectly safe, this road. And sure as stones it goes straight to Thranduil's halls, and Thorin won't set foot on it unless he's at the head of an army."

Nori smiled sweetly, and his voice was purring again. "Silly soldier," he said, moving into Dwalin's lap and sliding his arms around Dwalin's neck. "I meant you're safe with me."

"Aye," said Dwalin again, helplessly. They kissed again, open-mouthed and soft. Nori's hand slid over Dwalin's shoulder, where there was no pain. "We'd best get back," he said finally, "or Balin will be after us."

Nori laughed. "I'm betting on Dori," he said, but stood up and put a hand down for Dwalin. Dwalin took it, and it felt strange to stand so tall above Nori, to loom. He kept Nori's hand in his own as they returned to camp. It was not much more than fifty paces, and the narrow sky above the trees was dim and grey. A soft rain spattered the black river water. Dori and Balin were indeed together, with Oin, monitoring a contraption that fed rainwater into canteens. The rest of the company huddled under oilskins in the thin shelter of the nearest trees. Fili and Kili were asleep in each other's arms, and Bifur was nearly sitting on Thorin, signing furiously into one of his hands.

Dwalin went to his king, towing Nori along. They waited rather awhile for Bifur to end his rant, which Thorin quite literally brushed off. "That path with the lantern," said Dwalin without preamble, "is the road. It's safe as far as we could tell," by making ourselves thoroughly defenseless, he thought, but did not say.

Thorin huffed. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he'd been drinking. "The one with the fallen oak," he said, "goes most directly towards the Mountain. We leave at dawn." He narrowed his eyes at Bifur, who groaned and threw up his hands.

Bilbo appeared, silent on his great bare feet. He stared disbelievingly at Dwalin's, which were actually not all that much smaller, then pulled his eyes firmly upwards. Looking at nobody in particular, he announced, "Supper's laid out. Self-service tonight. I recommend the white cheese, as it's not going to last another two days, and anything you like with sour cream, as the cream's gone sour."

"Everyone eat hearty," Thorin called out, standing up. "Enough lolling around. Tomorrow we head for Erebor!"

There was no cheering, but no grumbling either, only a sort of collective sigh as everyone went to where the food was set. It was near the end of the bridge, where the sky was most visible. The rain had stopped, and dim clouds scudded across the evening sky; the breeze rustled the forest leaves and stirred Dwalin's tangled hair. He and Nori collected an assortment of edibles (Dwalin was in fact very fond of sour cream), and sat and ate together, watching the stars come out. Neither Balin nor Dori said a word to them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% clear on the history and construction of roads through Mirkwood, so these rely heavily on 100% free-range original headcanon. Other thoughts invited?
> 
> WRT the rope and such, I always find it a little mind-boggling when "modern-style" BDSM cultural practices exist in Middle-earth -- I am historical enough to date such to the 1980's around here. [Discussion of New World vegetation in JRRT's works elided.] Hope the compromises I came up with are satisfactory! Elven rope behavior extended from Sam's rope LOTR book IV chapter 1.
> 
> I dislike "Thorin's such an idiot" fic because he got lost in the Shire, so I've decided his stone-sense is unerring, but not always readily in accord to surface ways and roads.
> 
> Nori uses some metaphors that are distinctly Mannish due to his misspent youth.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supplies. Smut.

Dawn dimmed the stars and turned the sky from black to blue. Dwalin stifled a yawn, nodded to Gloin, and turned off the watch-clock. Bilbo was up already, checking on last night's cold-brewed rainwater coffee and tea.

Dwalin approached him diffidently. The little fellow still seemed unreasonably intimidated by him, given that even Nori towered over the hobbit. "Bilbo?" he said, and true to form, the hobbit started. "Honey?" said Dwalin, in what he hoped was a civilized and gentle tone of voice. Bilbo blanched. "For the coffee," said Dwalin very clearly. "Could I have some?" Bilbo's face started to splotch red. "Please," said Dwalin, feeling helpless.

"I can't find it," said Bilbo, equally helplessly. "I'm so sorry, I'll look-- !"

"No," said Dwalin hastily. "I'll search, you carry on, Mister Baggins." He retreated behind Bombur's lax form, cuddled in a bedroll between his brother and his cousin. He chose one of Bombur's packs at random, unstrapped it, and began a methodical survey. Truly he, or someone, should have done this before. The quartermaster's job should not have been neglected.

He did turn up several jars of honey, though those were small comfort given the moldy vegetables, stale cookies, and spoiled meat he also found. Dwalin upended the pack, sorting out edibles that would keep, edibles that had better be eaten today, and garbage. The total was distressingly small, and the garbage a distressingly high proportion. He brought boiled eggs, slightly-withered apples, and one jar of honey to the hobbit. "For breakfast," said Dwalin, taking a mug of coffee and sweetening it for himself. He took some apples back as well and returned to cleaning their larder.

Dori came to take over the repacking, and Dwalin passed out more provisions -- dried apricots that seemed a bit sticky, but would do for energy along the walk. Thorin seemed jittery and over-caffeinated, and Dwalin scowled. "We should take the lamp-road," he told his cousin severely. "It's safe as houses. We were warned."

Thorin scowled back. "Safe as elves' houses," he replied in the same tone. "There's no more stone on that track than any other. The one with the oak goes to Erebor -- to our home." By the last word, his voice was flushed with longing and his eyes were bright. Dwalin sighed, and Thorin clapped his shoulder. "Hone your axes, cousin," he said. "Ours has never been an easy road, but we have pursued it long."

Dwalin sighed again, and did as he was told. They did not leave at dawn, but it was not long after when they passed the fallen oak and were again held fast by the forest. This path was muddy rather than mossy, and there were many deep standing puddles. It took four dwarves to lift Bombur's travois through them, splashing and cursing. Bifur led all day, with a ribbon from Beorn's making a pennant atop his boar-spear, and sang through epics in Khuzdul. Every step seemed chancy, but nobody lost the way.

The path ended with a series of little clearings about the size of Bilbo's smial. Wild strawberries grew in profusion, and there were circles of deep summer sky overhead. Kili and Fili, who had been in the lead, ran around whooping, and Ori, who had been pulling Bombur, collapsed and nearly wept with relief. Nobody waited for Thorin to declare that they were camping there. Dori was already collecting wood to try a fire, and Bilbo, Oin, and Gloin were picking berries.

Dwalin would have liked to follow Ori's example. The day's passage had felt wilder to him and more dangerous than those before, perhaps because of the lack of paving-stones and subsequent inevitable stumbling, perhaps because he remained convinced that they had failed to heed their warnings. But they had come to no harm, so he dropped his pack, and set to defining a defensible perimeter for the night.

Two further paths led away from the last of the clearings, one headed roughly due east, the other more north. Just past the second, Dwalin smelled warm raspberries -- an almost-painful reminder of a bakery in Erebor, of stopping for a sweet snack after early-morning practice with his wooden child's sword. The bright fruit hung in great clusters, and his warg-skin and knuckledusters provided very good protection from thorns. He had eaten several greedy handfuls before he noticed a sound ahead, an arrhythmic music of splashing water.

He stood stock-still, then let his axes fall into his hands. Elves, perhaps? He backed out of the brambles, then took the northern track. The forest dim had not yet enclosed him when he saw a bower of yellow blossoms, curling twice as high as his head, off to the side of the path. Behind it was a stone fountain, not carved but artfully stacked, with a deep bowl and a low rolling cover of steam. Standing in it, up to his knees in water and without even his smallclothes, was Nori.

"What are you _doing_?" Dwalin cried. Nori turned, smiling without the least pretense of modesty.

"My people call it _washing_." He bent over and picked up a sodden pair of trousers; apparently he'd been stamping the mud out.

"Are you mad?" said Dwalin, striding forward. "After Bombur?"

Nori's expression went haughty as he wrung out the cloth. "As if even elves would build a fountain that put people to sleep," he said. "We need water, Dwalin. We don't have a tenth of our skins full, even after the rain-catch." He lay the trousers over the rocky edge, bent down to retrieve a sock.

"You shouldn't risk yourself for supplies," said Dwalin, furious. He walked towards Nori, but the smaller dwarf stepped back, deeper water coming halfway up his thighs.

"Not for you to say, master-at-arms," said Nori, with fair dignity for a naked person holding a wet sock. "I'm the company's supplier at need, and we had a need." He gestured towards his wrist, wound round with silvery Elven rope. "I asked my good friend here to pull me out of any danger. Far more practical than bickering with the lot of you." He held Dwalin's gaze, wringing out the sock.

Dwalin was stymied. Nori was unharmed, and if their water supplies were as meager as their food, that was no trivial concern. He huffed, returning Grasper and Keeper to his back. "It's drinkable?" he asked suspiciously, and Nori nodded.

"Sweet as silver," he said, apparently sensing victory. "Will you go get the waterskins, Dwalin? Or do you want to join me in washing up first?"

Dwalin bit his lip. "We can't resupply with dirty water," he said, and Nori laughed, gesturing to the rear of the fountain.

"It comes in fresh here, and cold," he said, "and is warmed here by hot stones. Flows out thataway, through the sand. Nice bit of engineering." He was still smiling, and Dwalin could not help but notice a telltale ripple low on Nori's abdomen. "Come on, guardsman," said Nori. "Bet you're at least as hot and sweaty as I was." There was a retort about not sleeping in his clothes at the tip of Dwalin's tongue, but he held it. He had never seen Nori in quite this mood, pleased with himself and confident. "Come on," said Nori again. "I've seen your notion of washing up before. Take your clothes off and get in the water."

Dwalin actually had to bite his tongue at that, remembering. He nodded, and shrugged off the axe-harness, setting his axes down at their proper angle. His knuckledusters followed, leaving his hands weightless -- Nori caught his eyes then, and he dropped the armor with a careless clatter. He did not want to sit down before that fierce copper gaze, which made getting off his boots awkward, and he left his socks for later. The warg-skin fell silently, and his belt landed silently on it. Nori gave Dwalin an approving nod and a knife-smile. "Everything else you hand to me," he said. "They'll want washing."

Dwalin stepped forward, pulled his shirt over his head, and tossed it to Nori, who caught it without looking. Nori's grin grew wider and sharper, and Dwalin felt himself turning red, of all things. He looked down as he opened his trousers, and managed to stay on his feet while removing them along with his smalls and even his socks. Mahal's apron was already tense and quivering, and Nori whistled. Dwalin's head snapped up and he threw the rest of his clothes at Nori's face. The thief caught them neatly, then dropped the bundle into the steaming water. "Good," he said. "Now to wash your mountainous, muscular self."

Dwalin flushed harder, but could not turn away. The fountain was elf-proportioned, good stonework though it was, and he had to clamber up the side to get in. When he reached the edge, Nori was right there, meeting his gaze with a softer smile and running a hand into Dwalin's hair. Dwalin pressed forward, seeking a kiss, but managed only to drag his half-hard cock against the stone as Nori moved back. "None of that," said Nori, "not yet, anyway. You do as I tell you now, and after we'll have all the kissing you like." His voice quavered at the end, and Dwalin felt warm all the way through.

"Yessir," he said, as nicely as he'd ever said it to anyone in formal command. He pulled himself to stand on the fountain's wide edge, purposely looming, lowering his brows and staring down at Nori past his cock with its gleaming jewels. He waited a moment, watched while Nori swallowed hard, then slowly lowered himself into the water. It was warm, flowing smoothly around his thighs. He allowed himself to loom for another moment, arms across his chest. Then he ducked his head to one side and asked, "Wash standing up like this? Or would you like me lying down?"

"Lying down," said Nori immediately. "Over this way," he beckoned, and Dwalin followed to a place where the stone lay just a little below the water's surface. He lay down obediently, head pillowed up on the edge, feeling the water there burble hot and cold upon his skin. He reached down to pull his cock, but stopped when Nori said, "No. Wash properly, like you did. Wait, I'll get soap."

Dwalin almost took the moment to tug his cock after all, but restrained himself, pushing his fingers into his hair instead. No one had water to wash more than the absolute minimum since entering Mirkwood, however many days or weeks that had been. It would, he told himself, feel good to be clean. It would, he replied, feel good to at least _grip_ his cock, or trace his jewels, how could Nori object to that? He tugged on a knot. Dwalin's beard and hair were modest by dwarvish standards, especially since he'd shorn the top of his head, but travel had not been kind to it, and he scowled.

Then Nori pressed up behind him, skin hotter than the water, long clever fingers raking over his scalp. Dwalin gasped -- he'd been distracted -- and covered it up by dunking his head. Nori set a honey-scented bar of soap that had certainly come from Beorn's into Dwalin's hand, and said soothingly, "Life's hard on the road, my beauty. I'll do your hair, and you start with your hands and feet, like you did."

Dwalin could not remember if he'd been called anyone's beauty before. The word rang in him, Nori's voice like a copper bell, and he shuddered. He was peculiarly flattered at having been so closely observed and remembered, and the tip of his cock poked up through the water, current flowing teasingly around the head. Nori's fingers in his hair didn't pull at all, even as Dwalin bent forward, obediently rubbing soap between his toes. He felt dizzy and hot, and apparently moved too fast. A sharp tug at his beard made his toes curl with pleasure, but Nori's voice was strict: "Slow down. Pretend you're alone."

"I wasn't alone that other time," Dwalin protested.

Nori snorted. "Of course not, you show-off. But you were pretending."

Dwalin couldn't tell if that made sense or not, but he tried to slow down. After his feet he washed his hands. Arms, legs, sides. Up to his collarbone, and Nori's hands were in his beard again, stroking and combing and tugging. Dwalin hesitated, afraid to even wash over his own paps -- he remembered vividly displaying his sensitivities there, and thought he might come utterly undone, doing that with Nori so close, watching and touching. "Go on," said Nori. "You like that, I know. Your paps poking up and turning dark. Do it." He wrapped his fingers along Dwalin's jaw, nails scratching lightly at the skin. "I'm watching."

So Dwalin did, though after the first pass of the soap he had to give up any pretense that he was merely bathing. He pinched and pulled and twisted, his paps feeding a fire that fed straight down to his core. The hands in his beard followed his movements, arpeggiated with tugs at his hair and scratches down his neck. When, unthinking, Dwalin reached for his cock again, Nori pulled harder and said "No!" Dwalin froze, except for a trembling that he could not still. An achingly long moment later, Nori went on, "Turn over. Put your hands and mouth on me."

Dwalin roared and twisted, flattening Nori in the shallow water beneath him, the current flowing through those elaborate peaks and braids. He bridged his great hands over Nori's wrists, and smiled as Nori's eyes opened wide. Dwalin was panting like a horse run too fast, but he brought their mouths together, as if for a kiss. Instead he murmured against Nori's lips, as softly as he could, "Yessir."

Then his mouth was on Nori's piercing, twisting through it with his tongue while his lips pressed hard on the pap. A hand slipped under Nori's narrow hips, one finger seeking and finding the tight, sensitive ring. Nori shrieked, and Dwalin smiled with his mouth full, biting down on metal and flesh and gem. He sucked, and his other hand gripped Nori's hard sleek cock, just tightening on it at first, then rubbing one finger after another as Nori had played on his face. He rutted against Nori's thigh, then moved to thrust between them. His jewels stuttered as Nori clamped down, thighs around Dwalin's hammer and hole around his hand, and Dwalin pressed slowly back. It was so hard not to push in with abandon, even knowing that the steaming water could do little to ease the way. Nori's arms came around Dwalin's neck and shoulders, and his mouth pressed down on Dwalin's scalp. He said Dwalin's name, lips and breath and voice humming against bare skin. Then they came together, sparking and melting like an alloy blending, spending into their mutual grasping heat and the support of the water and stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably be getting on with the spiders, but I'm not sure that's all that much going on from Dwalin's POV. So here's more time in Mirkwood, during which we can presume Bilbo was merely bored.
> 
> Many thanks to Sparkle for some specifics of the smut <3


	56. Chapter 56

Dori knew how to make thin rations last. He made a great many soups, often cunningly spiced. He was generous with the coffee, brewing it cold and strong, and offering it up at various dilutions throughout the day. Dwalin's hunger became a constant, and his irritation at it another constant, as his "mountainous self" trudged after Bifur's pennanted spear. Kili sighed when the last of the venison ran out, and Dwalin cuffed him, and Fili and Thorin glared. Dwalin glared back, and there might have been a fight if anyone had the energy.

Thorin continued to choose their directions, and Bifur to lead them on the nearest approximation of a passable way. The forest changed a little; there were more animals, including snakes that hung like slowly undulating branches, and black squirrels such as Dori had mentioned. One day when there had been nothing to eat but honeyed coffee and turnip broth, Kili shot a black squirrel, and contrary to their original plans, they immediately stopped and tried to cook it. But even under Bilbo's clever knife it was oily and tough, and over the fire it gave off waves of nauseating, greasy smoke. Fili seized the spit and threw it as far as he could, a falling star crackling through the forest, then suddenly winking out with a loud hiss. Bifur led them away at a run, or as near as they could manage with Bombur still lost to the world on his travois. They did not stop until darkness descended, and all fell asleep without even setting a watch.

It was still dark when Dwalin woke. Someone -- Bombur -- was talking in his sleep, laughing even. DIstressingly, he sounded like he was eating a feast. He complimented the crackled boar-skins, asked for more venison and then lingonberry sauce for the same, and smacked his lips over the wine. He chuckled at unheard jokes, and told a long tale about a mishap in the Rivendell kitchens, whose honey was sweeter than he had expected. Dwalin hated him, directly from the ache in his empty belly. He could hear Bifur and Bofur trying to shush the quartermaster, one in Khuzdul and the other in Westron. He heard the unmistakeable stamp of Thorin's boots in their direction, and then suddenly Thorin's wondering voice: "A light...?"

Dwalin sat up, Balin stirring beside him. The darkness seemed as heavy as ever until he came to his feet. Then, off in the distance, he thought he did see a light -- small and sparkling white, like a star on the forest floor. It seemed like the air was moving in the forest for once, a breeze scented with partridge and wild onions, rosemary and Dorwinion wine, and whispering with harp-strings and sweet voices. Kili said, "I'm going to see," and as he plunged noisily into the undergrowth, many booted feet went after him. Balin cried "Wait...!" but still he rose and followed, mace in his hands, with Dwalin and his axes beside. It was rough going, and Dwalin fell repeatedly; once Balin nearly knocked him off his feet with the mace. But they continued, as if hunger made them tireless, for what seemed like hours.

They slowed as they approached the light. It burned on the crest of a little clear hill, and all around it were elves, wearing gemstones white and green, eating and singing and dancing. Dwalin recognized Thranduil, the Elvenking, by the light crown of leaves on his golden head. He knelt beside a silver harp, and he smiled as he played. Then Thorin stepped out of the trees, and darkness fell as if by magic.

The woods were silent except for dwarvish cries of confusion and disappointment, and one very plaintive hobbit. If night on the path had been black, here seemed even darker in contrast to the lost fires, and the brilliant stars still shining above. They milled about, calling for each other, for the food -- the scents remained, though nobody so much as stumbled on a scrap. Then Kili cried, "To me, to me," and at the sound of his voice, he came alive in Dwalin's stone-sense -- tiger's-eye, striated and shimmering, bright as a beacon. He still tripped over fallen branches and uneven ground, and from the sound of it, so did the rest of the company. But Kili stood still, calling, and eventually they were able to count themselves by touch. Everyone was there, except for the family Ur, and Dwalin felt a stab of fury at himself for abandoning them. But there was no way to find the campsite in the darkness, so they huddled together on the trampled, stoneless ground and waited for the dawn.

Bifur found them after the sun had risen, but long before it had cleared the trees -- apparently eleven dwarves and a hobbit were easier to track than a boar. He looked extremely put out. Kili, who seemed to be trying to take responsibility, recounted the sorry tale, and Bifur almost smiled. He clapped Kili on the back and said, "Ma ohfukizu kuthu khazad asloni," which made Kili laugh with rue. Bifur would have led them back to their former camp, but everyone was exhausted and bruised after their night's run -- besides which, Thorin insisted they were closer to Erebor now. Dori, Gloin, and Fili went to help carry what luggage remained (including Bombur), while Oin tended to a variety of scrapes and bruises and turned ankles, and drops of a stomach-tincture against the hunger.

By noon they were rejoined and patched up, but there was only honey-water to drink and nothing at all to eat. Thorin and Bifur scouted a way out of the clearing, but "path" was too grand a word for it. It was perhaps wide enough for a deer, but not for a dwarf. Dwalin, Thorin, and Gloin spent the day hacking away at creeping vines and spiderwebs at both sides; Bofur, Ori, Oin, and Fili pulled the travois. Kili and Bifur stuck together at the front, pushing through for the faintest tracing of a track. Balin had twisted his back in the nighttime rush, and leaned heavily on Dori, who was also carrying the largest remainder of their belongings. Bilbo was at the back, complaining more or less incessantly, and Nori nodded at him wearily. They stopped at what might have been noon to drink water and rest. Nori surprised everyone by taking a double handful of stale, salty caramels from a pocket in his vest -- "Nicked 'em in Bree, they've been through the wash a few times." They tasted wonderful, though they also reminded everyone of how hungry they were. Bilbo declared that there was no help for it, and he at least would like a nap before they carried on. Darkness fell while he was speaking, and they made a minimal kind of camp, huddled together as closely as they could.

In Dwalin's dream, he fought spiders. Their eyes glowed and their fangs snapped, and then one bit down on his bare fingers and he was slowly paralyzed. Then he was lifted and spun through the air like a doll, and wrapped in a death-shroud so tight he could scarcely breathe. He coughed and screamed and struggled, and the shroud was drawn tighter and the poison flowed into him again. This cycle was repeated, apparently unending, until suddenly there was the much less dreamlike pressure of a knife at his throat. Dwalin roared, or tried to, and someone laughed, "Easy, soldier, I'm here to save you!"

The laugh was Bofur's, as were the calloused hands that cleared away the thick, sticky shroud. Dwalin was trussed from head to toe, and Bofur carefully swept the strands away from his eyes. Bofur's hair was striped as white as Bifur's with the same sticky threads, but he used his miner's rope and piton to lower himself beside Dwalin, who realized that he was hanging from a branch some thirty or forty feet in the air. He panicked and flailed, and Bofur said "Easy! Dwalin, are you all right? I want to cut you free, but I won't have you fall. If you need a moment, just say." His brows knitted beneath the brim of his hat, and he added, "Just say something?"

"My arms," Dwalin managed. Bofur laughed as if Dwalin had made a joke.

"Your arms and then your arms, eh?" said Bofur, cutting carefully. One of Dwalin's arms was by his side, the other crossed over his chest, and both came painfully alive with pins and needles as the cocoon came away. "Wait a moment, see how those work," said the miner, "and I'll clear those other arms for you to grasp and keep. But you have get down from this tree by yourself. I could carry you, but there's others still stuck, and a battle going on below."

Dwalin swiped at one ear with a swollen, half-dead hand, and then he could hear it plainly. The hobbit was singing -- of all things, did Bilbo think he was an elf? -- about Attercop and stinging, and there was a loud and evil chittering and clank. _Spiders_ , he realized, and shuddered all over. No wonder he felt poisoned. He reached up to the branch with his free hand, as Bofur swung around and freed his axes, and then his legs. Dwalin swung himself atop the branch and just clung for a moment, dizzy as he'd ever been in his life. Far below, he could see the fighting -- Bilbo stabbing his little sword in all directions, with Dori and Nori and Kili fighting beside him. Hundreds of spiders surrounded them. Dwalin broke a stick off a nearby branch and aimed it with all the precision he could muster. A spider's compound eye fractured like glass and it shrieked, the sound piercing Dwalin to the core. Grasper fell into his hand unthinking, and he cut the threads from which he'd hung. He plummeted into a pile of leaves, rolled to his feet with Keeper in hand, and set to killing.

He could see, as he fought, that it might be hopeless -- there were hundreds of spiders, some even now building a ropy barrier all around them. Dwalin fought on, uncaring; the odds would not be improved by his failing in any way now. But Bilbo interrupted, saying, "I am going to disappear. I shall draw the spiders off, if I can; and you must keep together and make in the opposite direction. To the left there, that is more or less the way towards the place where we last saw the elf-fires." He pulled something golden and gleaming from a pocket, and true to his word, vanished from sight.

Not, however, from the battle. Dwalin saw spiders fall where none could be seen to attack them, and Bilbo's mocking, singing voice drew them away. But it was not enough -- for every dozen spiders that skittered after the hobbit, a score or more descended to fight with the dwarves. Dwalin caught a despairing glance from Bifur, who was back-to-back with Bofur now defending poor Bombur, still lost in a dream on the travois. Dwalin saluted them with his axes, then caught them in time to behead another spider.

But it was not enough. Dwalin had been defeated in battle before, and he knew it was happening again, and he knew he would go on fighting until the field was abandoned or he was dead. He swung and ducked and charged, felt a fang scrape his knuckleduster and buried his fist in a chitinous face. The spiders made a kind of music and he was a dancer, compelled to follow its lead until he fell, and even light-headed with poison and starvation, he would take every step that he could.

Kili cried out for a weapon, and a strange high voice denied him. They were surrounded by elves as well as spiders, and Dwalin fell, tumbling backwards into the darkness of defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves shyly at book canon as we pass somewhere nearby*
> 
> *then slams assorted canons together with a loud grinding sound*
> 
> "Ma ohfukizu kuthu khazad asloni" is a play on an attested Neo-Khuzdul saying that means, "Don't laugh when an elf falls down, but don't rush to pick him up either."
> 
> Bilbo's words from JRRT's text.


	57. Chapter 57

Dwalin came to underground, which was a great comfort. His head throbbed with his heartbeat, and he rested against the comfort of worked stone. There were unfamiliar voices speaking with unfamiliar sounds, so he presumed he had been taken prisoner -- better elves than spiders, he supposed. His next thought was to wonder if he would be fed, and then, guiltily, what had become of Thorin and the company.

The first was answered as soon as he sat up. There was a trencher made out of coarse, nutty bread, filled with cold smoked fish, and a clever folded leaf that served as a water bottle. Dwalin was so hungry that he even tried eating the leaf, which was tender and peppery. With a full belly, he fell back asleep. When he woke up, he considered pissing through the elaborately forged cell door, but his previous professional life had worn the novelty off that particular form of rudeness -- he found the drain and used it. The cell contained a warg-skin, very large and nicely tanned, and otherwise nothing else. Dwalin's own warg-skin remained, but they'd taken his boots, belt, weapons, and tunic with its many pockets. He had never been imprisoned before, but felt a wave of sympathy for everyone he'd ever locked up. Aside from the food, there was nothing he liked about the experience. He poked experimentally at the lock, the door-jamb, and the drain, all of which were stoutly made. He lay down and went back to sleep.

After about the fourth repetition of this routine, it became unbearable. "Hey! Guard!" Dwalin yelled, hammering the iron bars with his bare fists. A few minutes later, a dark-haired elf wearing a long grey dress approached. It stopped outside Dwalin's cell, and looked down at him inquiringly. "What are we in for? When do we get out?"

"Trespass," it said calmly, "and attacking a group of elves. Although I think it's better said that you are here to protect you from spiders, and your lack of preparation, caution, and skill. For the latter, I do not know."

When Dwalin was a lad at lessons, Balin had coached him to lead with a blow to his opponent's weakest point -- he'd meant for debate, though Dwalin found it applied to fighting just as well. But this was debate, so he said only, "We never attacked. We offered no violence. When we met elves elsewhere on our travels, they showed us great hospitality." The last sentence hurt a little to say, but it was true.

"Did they." The elf's tone might have been disbelieving or merely indifferent. Its great eyes regarded Dwalin down its long narrow nose, and he felt again that irritation at Big People for being bigger than himself.

"Yes." Dwalin stepped back, both to loll against the wall and to relieve the crick in his neck. "We traded with them. Dwarvish knowledge for wines and salves and such." His senses dipped into the smooth stone behind him, a distraction and a relief. He turned away from the guard. "Guess one finds all sorts in Middle-earth, though."

The elf laughed. "If you knew anything useful, you might not need so much salve," it said, not unkindly. "I'll see if we can get you some remedies against spider-bite. Itches, I'm sure." Dwalin did not answer, nor did he hear it leaving; then again he had not heard it approach. He pressed his hands and face against the stone, shamelessly begging in his heart for it to speak to him, tell him of itself and any stone-forged souls it held within.

It did not speak in a voice. Dwalin felt the caverns growing out away from the surface he faced, spaces and solidities, crystals and carvings, lines of ore and wells of deep water. It was old work, ages old. Some of it had bubbled out of stone so hot it had melted -- Mahal's own crafting, from when the world was new; Dwalin felt this with an instinctive reverence that set him down on his knees. There were spaces drilled out with iron, the work of dwarves' hands and minds, that made this elves' prison feel strangely enough like home. And then there was Nori -- a bright sharp taste like a penny in his mouth -- and Dwalin swallowed hard, sudden tears in his eyes. He rolled the sense of his beloved about in his mind, wishing and wondering if there was any way Nori might feel him, might know he was known. He had no way to tell and no one to ask. He sat down hard, put his empty, tattooed hands over his face, and let the tears slide down.

This was Thranduil's realm, that merciless king. Dwalin wondered why they hadn't been left to the spiders after all. He had been both a guard and a soldier himself, and knew that nobody kept enemies alive and fed, let alone guarded and possibly salved, without reason. But he had no idea what an elf-king's reasons might be.

Eventually his tears dried, and he rolled over to face the door. Apparently the elf-guard had been and gone again. There was the usual trencher of bread, a handful of apricots, another handful of dried meat. A cupped leaf of water, and two more beside it -- one containing a sharp-smelling, yellowish concoction, another a dark red wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write that the dwarves' official crime was "walking on the grass".


	58. Chapter 58

The salve turned the red weals on Dwalin's skin -- mostly on his hands, some frighteningly beneath torn clothing -- a wan yellow, and soothed the burn and itch. His bad shoulder had frozen up entirely, and he wondered if he'd broken his nose again, but he denied the pain as a soldier must. He drank the wine, then superstitiously opened his shirt, and lay on the stone with as much skin bare to it as he dared. He pulled the warg-skin over himself and pretended to be asleep.

Possibly the wine helped, as Dwalin fell immediately into the stone. "Falling" was how it felt, straight downwards through igneous rock, veins of iron ore, rich gold, shivering uranium. For a long time he rested in the bedrock of Middle-earth, in its perfect, untouched darkness, and felt the shift and flow of the world's materials like his own pulse and breath. Then he floated up into his own solid body on the cool floor of the cell. He stood and stretched, nowhere as close to touching the ceiling as he was used to. It was like being at the bottom of a pit. But he had touched the bottom of the world, and he could abide.

Nothing hurt, or almost, and he put himself through a round of exercises. When he was finished, holding himself in plank on bare wrists, he noticed his guard had returned. (Or was it a different one? The dress was blue....) "That's the spirit," it said lightly. "Keep yourself up. Your king is a liar and quarrelsome; you may be here for some time."

That did hurt, and Dwalin roared and lunged for the bars. He scraped his knuckles throwing the punch, and the elf was halfway across the hall besides. They stared at each other, the elf wide-eyed and Dwalin's narrowed to slits, until Dwalin growled and lowered his bleeding hand. "My king is true," he said, "and keeps no prisoners who have done no wrong." 

"You're quarrelsome yourself," the elf said haughtily, backing away down the winding corridor. Dwalin huffed, and cradled his bleeding hand. The skin had ripped through where the spider-bites were still swollen, and it hurt again, very badly. Dwalin dabbed it with salve -- he somehow did not expect any more would be forthcoming. But the elf had left behind another meal, and an additional bowl of water along with a rough cloth. Which made Dwalin huff again; he had not expected that. Still, even an elf should know better than to insult a prisoner's beloved kinsman and king. He touched the water, which was hot, and found a slippery, soapy-feeling leaf wrapped up in the cloth. This time he merely sighed, and washed himself before eating.

He hung the cloth on the bars of the cell and set the bowl on its edge, sticking out into the hallway. Then he bared his skin to the floor again, pulled the warg-skin (it was a very large one) over himself, and determinedly set to tracking his companions.

There was Nori, and Dwalin paused to savor him, electric and familiar. He wished he knew what the subtle changes he sensed meant, if they meant anything -- Nori was less _ductile_ right now, and also less _verdegris_. Wondering was distracting, and he lost the sense of stone as anything but cold and smooth beneath him. Somehow between that, and the exchange with the elf, and his scraped-up spider-bitten hand hurting again, Dwalin's heart stabbed hard. He pushed himself into a corner, wrapped himself as tightly as he could beneath the skin, and tried to keep the noise down as he cried.

The cell-door hinges didn't squeak, and the lock hadn't either, so perhaps it was the stone-sense again when Dwalin swallowed hard and peered out. There was Nori, kneeling in the opposite corner, ostentatiously picking his nails with something glittery and sharp. He looked back when Dwalin moved, and whispered, "Throw that skin over me, if you're done with it? I felt like a visit, but I don't much fancy being caught."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story's "mesogeology" (the planetary science of Middle-earth) is obviously a total work of my humble imagination. My sincere apologies to real geology and real geologists, and to those of us who really would prefer that worlds be round.
> 
> Cliffhanger endpoint endorsed by the revered Thorinsmut XD


	59. Chapter 59

Dwalin threw himself on Nori with a howl. Nori squirmed, flattening himself under Dwalin's weight, laughing almost silently, tucking the warg-skin around them. They were confined in a small, dark, stuffy space, and Dwalin had never felt anything so wonderful. He pushed his face into Nori's neck, pulled up Nori's shirt -- like Dwalin's, Nori's outer layers of clothing were gone -- to press their skin together, to find and touch Nori's nursing-token, to clasp his body hard and close. Nori was so small, so sleek, so warm, _here_ and _alive_. Dwalin was crying again, his mouth full of Nori's throat, which at least muffled the noise a bit.

"Easy, my beauty, easy, you big bear, you..." Nori's whispered words were cut off as Dwalin kissed his mouth, not hard but tenderly, tasting his own tears. For a moment Nori froze, then he kissed back, arms winding around Dwalin's neck, gentle fingers pushing into the tangled hair at his nape. He took a grip and pulled Dwalin's head back a little, just enough to add, "You're all right. I've found you, you're okay. Everything's going to be fine."

Part of Dwalin wanted desperately to believe this, but that part was a child, not a master-at-arms. He sighed, and whispered back, "How? Thorin's not.... Thranduil is...." He stopped himself. "Their king is merciless, and angry. They're immortal, and they might never let us go."

Nori chuckled, a glitter of copper sparks in the darkness. "I'm a very good thief, and we've got an invisible burglar besides. Neither of us has stolen quite so much as thirteen dwarves and their belongings before, but we're working on it. I don't like being locked up myself," and Dwalin hugged him hard, remembering just how much Nori did not like that. Nori leaned their foreheads together, and they were quiet a moment, breathing each other's breath. He did not wait for Dwalin to ask, but tugged at his tangles. "They never even thought to search me proper," he chuckled. "You couldn't hide a sewing-needle in the thin pickings those tree-shaggers call hair."

Dwalin laughed. "They'd lose a skinny finger if they tried." Nori kissed his nose.

"They almost lost one anyway. My little brother bites." Nori gave him news, and Dwalin drank it up. Thorin had cussed out Thranduil, in Khuzdul no less, and felt bad about that latter part. Balin was dreaming up treaty language, and Fili was plotting attacks. Bifur was playing the slavering lunatic, and his cell was in sight of Bofur's, who was thus constantly entertained. Bombur had been revived, apparently easily enough, and blamed himself for the company's hunger and wandering. "I did give him back his ladle," Nori confided. "They're mostly just storing our things. Very convenient of them. You'll have your axes back if we can snag them on the way out." They had not yet found Oin or Gloin, or Dori -- the dungeons were vast, and vastly empty. As for Kili, Nori shook his head. "He's having the time of his life, you'd think," he confided. "He acts like he's courting that woman, the guard -- do you remember her? She was the first one with an arrow when we were fighting the spiders..."

Dwalin shook his head; he did not remember. And Kili was much too young to be courting anyway. "He probably misses his brother," he told Nori. "Fili loves to hear him go on about anything in his silly head."

"No doubt," said Nori, sounding more dubious than before. Then he stiffened, and whispered softer than ever, "Mahal forged a fool -- I've been here too long, there'll be a guard along any moment. Here," and he stuffed one hand unceremoniously into Dwalin's trousers, "moan a little, and they'll leave quick -- they'll think you're back here jerking off." There was little Dwalin could imagine less erotic than putting on a show for an elf-guard, but Nori's hand was quick and certain, and Nori's whisper hot in his ear. "Come on, my beauty, make some noise for me? I've missed you, missed your weight on me, want to hear you...." and Dwalin did groan, and rut against him under the warg-skin, unable to disobey.

He heard, better than he thought he could have, soft-booted feet stopping abruptly at his cell door, and choked on a scream. Nori bit him hard, sucking into Dwalin's neck, and Dwalin was overcome with lust and fear and hope and devotion all together, and his breath left him loud as he spent into Nori's hand. He was shaking hard as he heard the footsteps hurrying away, and Nori's voiceless laughter in his ear. "I'll have you for this," he muttered, not even knowing what he meant, and Nori's arm tightened around his back.

 _Yes_ , signed Nori, fingers clumsy but clear enough on Dwalin's skin. He freed an edge of the warg-skin, and Dwalin peered out as a rush of cool, scented air rushed in. The guard was gone, and had left the usual trencher along with a written note and, apparently, a bowl of chamomile tea.

"I'd better go," said Nori, folding back the pelt and slithering out from under Dwalin. "They'll be feeding me before long, and it won't do to be late." He was at the cell-door, a tool shining in hands still gleamingly wet with Dwalin's spunk. "See you soon." The lock slipped open, and Nori stepped out.

If the guard had been near, it (or she, or he) might have seen Dwalin's heavy, swollen hand staying the gate, his big scarred face leaning out, his long hair briefly hiding a smaller figure's face. But it was only briefly, and no one saw. The lock slipped silently to, and Dwalin knelt to read the note:

_Master Dwarf, my apologies for my insult to your leader. Your loyalty is commendable. I have brought a brew of eyes-of-the-sun, which I hope helps to soothe your distress. There is honey in it as one of your fellows said that was to your taste. Wishing for peace, I remain, your guard, Galion._

Dwalin laughed, and drank the tea, and slept very peacefully after all.


	60. Chapter 60

Bilbo visited Dwalin the next day (if "two meals a day" accounted time correctly). He couldn't pick the lock, and only flicked out of invisibility for a few moments, looking miserably thin and sunken-eyed with sleeplessness. His version of the dwarves' gossip was much sparser, but he had also been spying on the elves. Thorin's quarrel with Thranduil had greatly upset the Elvenking. His "dragon scars" were periodically visible, and he showed no sign of being ready to release his prisoners, or even to much discuss them. The guard had been told to "keep" the dwarves, which apparently meant feeding them and minimally maintaining their health. Dwalin's honey tea was apparently soft-hearted lagniappe.

Dwalin tried to study his guards more carefully after that. "Galion" was probably the one with hair like a small, sad brown parody of Nori's peaks and braids. He continued to bring honey tea now and then, and once a chunk of dripping comb in a bowl of plum wine. There was another with dark hair worn shorter and loose, and a redhead. None of them tried to talk to Dwalin after the abortive punching incident, and he wasn't inclined to make conversation either, though he wondered if any of these might be Kili's ... audience.

To pass the time, Dwalin did as he'd learned in the military. Bodily exercise, as always working to extend his flexibility. Recitation and analysis of important texts, which was infinitely more boring without Balin to do it with. He picked threads from his clothing to practice knotwork -- another craft he owed to his brother -- and made a token that he was reasonably sure would read _My heart is with you_. When Bilbo next visited, the hobbit kindly agreed to carry it to Bifur, and he hoped Bifur would kindly forgive any errors in his runes.

The hardest part was being alone. He spent hours on end concentrated within his stone-sense, which was sometimes comforting and sometimes deeply disconcerting. He found Dori that way, iron and mithril and salt -- then got paralyzingly confused trying to map out where in the dungeons he might be. It was infinitely easier to know the stone than to follow the narrow, winding corridors of air or the rippling passage of water. There seemed to be no way to make his own presence known, not even to Thorin, when he found that presence of steady granite and burning gold. He spent a long time focussed there before returning, pins and needles in his feet and the stew of his supper congealed.

Sleeping with nobody else's warmth or breath nearby, Dwalin began to have nightmares. Many involved being trapped again in Mirkwood's spiderwebs. Usually there was nothing more to it, only being stuck, unable to move or speak as Bofur's voice or Balin's faded into static, until his galloping heartbeat awakened him. In the worst dreams, he was left for dead at Azanulzibar beside his unspeaking father, or small and forgotten in the remains of a refugee camp.

It was in one of those that Nori came. Dream-Nori was a beardless youth in a long grey dress, picking up clinkers where there had been a forge. Dwalin ran to him, reached out, but Nori turned away. "I'm looking for Eada," he said loftily, "but dwarves live longer than men. Elves can live forever while you get old and die." It wasn't clinkers in his hands anymore, but burned bones hanging heavy from delicate fingers. Eada's bones, or Dwalin's own?

He opened his eyes. There were Nori's hands, just as he had seen, holding Dwalin's own heavy paw with its softening callouses and pale new spider-scars. Their eyes met, and Dwalin grabbed Nori's wrists and hauled him close, shifting the warg-skin to cover them both.

He pinned Nori beneath himself, careless of his weight, settling Nori's wrists above his head. Nori allowed it, pliant and wordless, breath fast and taut enough to whine. The little sound made Dwalin's skin prickle, and he let himself stroke up under Nori's shirt, sliding his fingers through the silky pelt. For all he'd felt of loneliness, Dwalin had underestimated the pleasure he now found in skin on skin, in contact and responsiveness and trust. He had no words for a long time, and then finally only, "Nori...." in a voice rough with disuse.

Nori whined again, and Dwalin let go of his wrists, rolled over and yanked the warg-pelt along. He put up his knees and cradled Nori against his chest. The only important thing, he thought, was that Nori was alive, his heart beating with the same deep pulse that Dwalin felt in the bedrock at the bottom of the world. He decided (even as he wrapped his arms around Nori, pulling him crushingly close), that Nori's tools should serve him, and soon.

"You should go," Dwalin said, before he could think better of it. Nori opened his mouth and Dwalin cut him off by kissing him, their tongues sliding together until they stopped for breath. "Get out of this prison. Go on to Erebor, or back to Ered Luin, or wherever in the wide world you want." He stopped, smiling, imagining Nori back home drinking at the Amethyst, picking Men's pockets in Dale, in wild lands beneath the stars. "You should be free."

Nori stiffened in his arms. For three breaths he was silent, then he kissed Dwalin again, nuzzling their mouths gently together. "Don't be an idiot," he said, warm with whispered affection. "We're all going to get out. You included, you ridiculously oversized lump of swag -- every Mahal-blessed one of us. I'll flatten Thranduil's purse like stepping on an ant."

"Cocky little thief," said Dwalin, reaching up to tug at Nori's braided beard. Had he ever been that young, that innocently assured of himself? Before Azanulzibar, perhaps. "Never mind us. Promise me you'll escape no matter what, all right, love?"

The last word hung between them, the silence between a clockwork tick and the hour's chime. "Before I forsake you, my shield-brother," said Nori deliberately, "may my own hands turn my weapons against me." He pushed his right hand into Dwalin's, led it quickly sideways through the right-hand part of his hair, and emerged holding half a dozen bits of twisted metal. He pressed the strange warm shapes into the tender skin below Dwalin's beard. "I'd sooner lock myself up than leave without you."

"...but..." Dwalin was lost. He wanted so much to step through the caverns he had only visited with his mind, to follow water and air out from the stone of Thranduil's hold. But he would never hold Nori's own freedom hostage against that.

Nori mistook his hesitation. "I can swear," he said. "Balin talked to me about it. I don't know what you told him," he said, forestalling Dwalin's objection, and anyway he'd only spoken in general terms and to Bifur, "but he's taken it on himself to educate me as well as Ori in the Law. Do you accept my oath, Dwalin?" His voice was shaking, and he almost raised it past a whisper, "Or are you the sort who only gives and never takes?"

"I accept," said Dwalin, and his heart felt lighter. "Nori, shield-brother. You give me hope."

"Good," said Nori, breathing out heavily. He gathered his tools, or his weapons, and pushed them absently back into his quiff. "Because you promised to spend all day opening me and fucking me, and there's no way to do that in here."

"I'll keep that promise," said Dwalin. Nori pushed his face into Dwalin's beard, biting down where the lock-picks had rested, hot and sharp.

"You will," Nori murmured against his throat. "Meanwhile, don't despair." He made a small noise like a sob, then said, "I've got to go."

He rolled off and stepped silently away, leaving Dwalin under the warg-skin, wide awake and breathing hard.


	61. Chapter 61

Dwalin wondered if their escape might be upon them when Galion showed up drunk. Someone less experienced with drunkards than a guardsman might not have noticed -- the elf's step was not unstable, nor did his speech slur. Perhaps it was only that he spoke at all, given what had happened the last time. But cloud-grey eyes looked in at Dwalin until he looked back, and Galion said cordially, "Tonight is Nost-na-Elen, Master Dwarf. I do not know if such holiness is celebrated among your people, and yet I would wish you a fair one. Look, I have brought you a token -- this is a sugar-star, it tastes very sweet, and shimmers on the tongue..."

He trailed off, and Dwalin reminded himself that this was his colleague in a way. There was no excuse for being rude, and he had been known to pass out a bit of ale on Durin's Day himself. He met Galion's eye from a distance -- he still didn't enjoy looking _up_ at anyone -- and said, "My thanks, Master Guard. May your celebration be fair as well."

Galion smiled, and Dwalin was surprised enough that he smiled back before dropping the gaze. He walked to the bars and accepted the candy. Uncannily, it actually did shimmer, even in the lamplit dungeon dark. It had seven unequal points, and Dwalin bit one off. It melted on his tongue in little ripples, tasting of meadowsweet and cold air. Galion was watching, and his smile widened as he watched Dwalin's face. He said something in his own twittering language as he set down bread and meat and water, and was singing before he left the corridor.

Dwalin ate the food, then spent a long time savoring the star. He was on the second-to-last point when there was a sudden clanking at his gate. The door was pushed open by unseen hands, and a hobbit-accented voice saying, "Come on, it's time to go!"

Dwalin had expected Nori and his lock-picks, but apparently Bilbo had got ahold of the keys. He whispered directions -- second left and down a flight of stairs, then to the right -- and presumably went on to free more dwarves. Dwalin walked out a little shakily, as if he'd been on a boat and forgotten how to move on dry ground. But he went as he'd been told, easily enough, and found half a dozen of the company whispering excitedly in a small room. Balin seized him at once, and their foreheads cracked together so hard that Dwalin's head spun. How he'd missed his brother's strength! Dwalin clung to him. After so much time he hardly knew how to behave with other dwarves. Oin and Gloin were similarly together, and Bombur and Bofur likewise, and Dori standing alone with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Without letting go of Balin, Dwalin called over, "Oi, Bofur! Thanks for saving my life. I'll be using it again now," and everybody laughed.

They were in a pantry, and in the dark spaces below shelves, some of their belongings were hidden. Dori unbent long enough to retrieve Grasper and Keeper and present them to Dwalin, along with their harness and his knuckledusters, his boots, the antler-handled knife, and some socks that weren't actually Dwalin's at all. "Space is limited," Dori explained, "so Nori was conservative in collecting our things. Is there aught else you require, Master Dwalin?"

"Our liberty, Master Dori, but that's coming," he replied. Dori bowed, and was turning away before Dwalin could bow back. "Thank you," he called to the back of that perfectly coiffed head. Dori certainly wasn't any easier to be polite to now. Then Thorin came in, and every other thought fled as Dwalin embraced his king.

"Careful with that axe," said Thorin. His voice was rough, but his hands wrapped around Dwalin's back, and his head nestled close under Dwalin's beard. Dwalin sighed. Thorin felt small and tense and feverishly hot in his arms. Dwalin wondered if he'd been tortured, and then shrugged the specifics away; being imprisoned was enough to drive Thorin to extremis.

"I'm always careful," said Dwalin. He'd carried those axes since Thorin had made the first set, and if anyone could be considered grasped and kept, it was Dwalin. He turned his head, letting his cheek rest on Thorin's soft, tangled hair. Here was granite, here was gold; here was the King that Dwalin loved. They stood together until a pair of earthquakes struck and tumbled them down in a heap: Fili and Kili.

The lads seemed hale and well, Kili in his usual state of overexcitement, Fili unable to let go of his brother's hand even as they wrestled affectionately with the older dwarves. Dwalin was handicapped in his own way by the weapons he carried, so he shoved his way out of the melee, leaving Thorin and the lads gasping with laughter. He came to his feet right in Bifur's face, and then into another crushing embrace, this one including kissing.

Bifur tasted of shimmering sweetness, and Dwalin was peculiarly shocked by the familiarity. Had Galion given holiday tokens to everyone? _You surpass starlight,_ Bifur signed, reaching up to the back of Dwalin's neck, and Dwalin bowed his head.

"All right, that's everyone," said Bilbo, with satisfaction. Dwalin released Bifur reluctantly, and indeed there they all were -- thirteen dwarves and a hobbit, not well-dressed or supplied, but alive and intact. He caught Nori's eye, which gleamed maniacally.

"Let's go," said Nori, and led the way. Everyone else was clumsy on their feet, excepting him; lack of exercise, Dwalin judged, and in Bilbo's case lack of food and sleep. But Nori glided through dusty halls, unlocking doors and locking them again behind the group, until they came to a deep storage room. It was a buttery, full of barrels, and Dwalin tried to catch Nori's eye as he laughed, but failed. Nori and Bilbo were tapping on the barrels, and arranging them in a pattern on the floor. "All right! Everybody in!" said Nori at last.

Everyone stared, Dwalin not least. Bilbo said "Please, you must trust me," and Thorin nodded firmly and climbed into one himself. Once the king had done, everyone else followed, including Nori. Dwalin's barrel smelled of Dorwinion and far too many memories. He tucked himself in, carefully securing his axes between the barrel-staves. He had one last glimpse of Bilbo by lamplight as his barrel was shut, and then the barrel rolled and slid and and fell upside down into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made up the holiday name meaning "birth of a star" in quenya -- "feast of starlight" didn't quite do it for me, starlight being an everyday occurrence and timing not working out how i wanted. sorry pj!
> 
> galion of course isn't really a guard; he is the butler in thranduil's halls. he's got other things he's supposed to be doing. this whole keeping-prisoners business is foolishness.
> 
> dori retreats into formality when he's uncomfortable, whereas dwalin does the opposite.


	62. Chapter 62

The world was dark, loud with splashing and banging, and wildly spinning. Dwalin was very glad the last thing he'd eaten was that star-sweet, since as tastes for rising in one's throat go, it was surprisingly innocuous. Eventually he managed to roll his barrel so that it was upright, with his head (he hoped) sticking out of the water, and he threw a careful punch to release the top.

The sunlight hit him hard, and for some moments he was blind. The splashing was much quieter from above, and his barrel rocked along gently in the river's current. The other barrels were not far off, and he struggled to paddle over to one and knock on it. After some incomprehensible shouts were exchanged, Bombur popped out, and they exchanged foolish grins. Then they went about to the other barrels, opening the lids, with dwarves popping up like jacks-in-the-box. Bifur and Gloin both seemed a bit dazed, but Oin said it was superficial; they would be all right after some rest. Nori had stashed some of the vanilla-tasting Elven cram, as well as a great bag of imperfectly-shaped sugar-stars, and they shared out this sweet breakfast and washed it down with river-water. Only Bilbo was missing. Balin suggested that he might have had separate plans for himself, or be wearing his magical ring; in any case there was nothing to be done for him just then. They drifted down the river, some dwarves whooping and screaming as they rattled through rapids, others turning white as the water themselves. They were relaxed, splashing and chattering and enjoying their freedom, when the river rounded a bend and Ori cried out, "Orcs!".

They were clearly a hunting-party; they also clearly had not expected so rich a find. They screamed, and began casting stones at the dwarves, then began shooting arrows. A few of the braver ones swung outwards on branches, and one of these -- a great Uruk-hai with skin nearly blue -- reached down to pluck up Thorin like a lily from a pond.

Without thinking, Dwalin reached behind himself and seized Keeper. His were war-axes, meant for in-hand combat, but Thorin was easily thirty feet away. Dwalin threw the axe overhand, and it settled into the crook of the orc's neck. The creature made an awful noise, and black blood flowed before it dropped and sank like a stone.

Downstream, a line of orcs was forming across a narrow space -- one held onto a great tree-root that clung to the riverside, and its fellows linked up to it, arms around shoulders, apparently intending to form a barricade. Dwalin blanched; ordinary orcs did not plan or cooperate so effectively. He tried to paddle his barrel faster, first with his hands and then with an axe, to limited effect. But as soon as the last orc had lowered itself into the water, and was climbing along behind the rank to reach the other bank, he caught a glimpse of Kili -- out of his barrel and running above the water's edge, ducking from tree to tree as if he were hunting. He had his bow at the ready, and one of Fili's long knives in his belt. He was only thirty yards from the line of orcs when an orc-arrow struck into his leg, and he fell.

Dwalin would have screamed but he was breathless, helpless, knowing that if he tried to leave his barrel he would sink like a stone. Oin was already struggling towards the bank, his ear-trumpet a surprisingly effective oar. But Kili was half-up on his good knee, and fired off a single shot. It hit the orc on the end in the eye, and its outcry was audible even over the rushing water. The line of orcs wavered in the water like a sheet in the wind, then sank, howling and pulling at one another. One managed to seize an edge of Bifur's barrel, in the lead, and the old warrior cut off its head, wielding the head of the boar-spear like a kitchen knife.

Then the elves arrived.

There were two of them, the redheaded guard and a taller, paler one Dwalin did not know. They moved like whirlwinds, all arrows and knives, and orcs fell around them like bodies tumbled by an avalanche. The redheaded one reached Kili, and then Dwalin did scream, at the brutal unfairness of their wild young prince taken captive again. But as he watched, they exchanged a look -- Kili even smiled -- and the elf lifted him by the shoulders and heaved him into Oin's barrel below. It rocked beneath the additional weight, but righted itself with Oin's ear-trumpet's help and spun away through the water.

Dwalin's barrel bumped through the crevice where the orcs had been, and over a waterfall like a thunderstorm. He was soaked and tumbled, and landed sideways, gasping and struggling to right himself again. By the time he had, the violence was past. Once again the dwarves drifted through flat green water, under a clear blue morning sky. Silhouetted between the trees, Dwalin saw the slopes and peaks of the Lonely Mountain.


	63. Chapter 63

It was Gloin pointed out that somebody would presumably come around to collect the barrels from Thranduil's halls, and that the dwarves had no intention of being collected again. The river was calm and wide where it met up with the Long Lake, and they were able to paddle to shore and wade out. They sent the barrels along their way with gratitude but no regret, save Bombur's, which he kept aside.

Bilbo appeared as he was wont to, suddenly becoming visible right in the middle of things. Dwalin hardly started this time. The hobbit looked worse than ever, shivering and sniffling and soaked to the skin. Nori lifted him up and danced about, crowing, "We did it! Thirteen dwarves and assorted armaments, plucked from the dungeons of a First-Age Elvenking! We are the stuff of legend!" Bilbo coughed, laughed, and insisted on being put down. Nori gave him a tiny bottle of Elven brandy, and Dori built a fire for drying everyone's clothes. The day was warm and fair, and the sun and air on skin was a welcome change and comforting. When he'd finished the brandy, Bilbo leaned back in the long grass and closed his weary eyes, and many of the dwarves followed suit.

Dwalin went to check on Kili. Oin had removed the arrow, a nasty barbed thing, but there was a grayish cast around the wound, visible through the light pelt on Kili's skin. Kili was in excellent spirits anyway, full of pride at his kill, and Dwalin was torn between praising the lad's aim and tactics and worrying about his health. He decided to leave the latter to Oin, for now, and said to Kili only, "Fine job, lad. We'd have been in their teeth if not for you." This made the rest of Kili blush pink while Fili puffed with pride. Dwalin turned away and found Thorin, sitting nearby with all the concern Dwalin had not expressed on his own face.

"An elf saved him," said Thorin flatly. "And you saved me."

"If only elves loved our young warriors as well as I love you," said Dwalin, laughing. "I was terribly angry, being their prisoner, but I didn't mind those killing orcs or handing our wounded to Oin. And oh, I lost Keeper; you'll have to make it again."

Thorin snorted. "In the forges of Erebor, with gold chasing on the handle." Dwalin nodded. He'd never met a better armorer than Thorin, or indeed a better blacksmith of any kind. "We can hope they'll arm us in Dale," he went on more quietly. "You know, I still don't know what we're going to do about the dragon."

It wasn't the kind of thing Thorin would say, the vast majority of the time, and Dwalin sat down close beside him. "Nothing, we hope," he said. "We'll find the Arkenstone, and restore your kingship with or without Erebor. Men say the dragon's dead, anyway." He did not want to restart the argument -- Men were short-lived creatures, and no elf or dwarf had ventured such a speculation; then again it was Men who still lived near the Lonely Mountain. The mountain itself was bright from this vantage, high and stark and painfully familiar. Below it, there was little remaining of the city of Dale, only the occasional disconnected spire or wall. Instead, there were long buildings over what had once been little Lake-town. Dwalin could just make out a few boats, skimming like insects on the mirror-bright surface of the water.

Thorin put a hand on Dwalin's shoulder, too tired or too gentle for a clap. "We will do what we can," he said vaguely. So many elements of the quest, so many actions to take or avoid, depended on what they found from here. In a way the quest would not begin until they reached the ruins of their old home, and would know, finally, exactly what they had brought this drinking brawl to fight against.

"As best we can," said Dwalin, as heartily as he could. He saw Balin approaching them, and beckoned his brother over. "Let's sleep," he said to both of them, "while it's warm, and before we try to take on anything more challenging, eh? I've done battle enough for today," and he lay back in the grass with his arms spread wide.

Balin had clearly been approaching with a different plan -- something complicated and wise and diplomatic, Dwalin was sure -- but he saw the wisdom of his little brother's words, or perhaps the weariness in the eyes of his cousin and king. "Aye," said Balin, settling down on Thorin's other side. "Let's have a rest, at least until our clothes are dry."

Dwalin slept easily, but not so soundly that he did not feel the other dwarves -- first Bifur, then Ori, then Nori -- who came in to settle beside him. He rested easier then, and woke to the clang of Bombur's ladle on a barrel-hoop, and the good smell of soup for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still going for my December 1 deadline, though I suspect I may indeed sooner die XD
> 
> The crushing of canons continues, along with my own attempts at creating a coherent story. If your favorite bit is being left out, let me know and I might try to grind it in!


	64. Chapter 64

They marched into Lake-town at sunset, crossing the bridge through a sweet golden twilight that likely made them look less ragged than they actually were. At least, Dwalin thought, the company were well-fed and rested, if only half-armed and half-dressed, and the latter was not so out-of-place on a gentle late-summer evening after all. Nori's hair blazed in the sunset, and Thorin looked more at home with Gloin's throwing-axe than he ever had with elven Orcrist. Even Kili bore up well, though Dwalin could see that he and Fili moved together as much for support as camaraderie. The stones rang under their boots as they approached the gatehouse, and Thorin clapped at the door and strode in.

The guards (if that's what they were; Dwalin was not certain that the Men drinking and dicing were any more properly guards than Galion) were astonished at the intrusion. "Who are you and what do you want?" they shouted, leaping to their feet and groping for weapons.

"Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror King under the Mountain!" said the dwarf in a loud voice, and he looked it, in spite of his torn clothes and draggled hood. Gold gleamed on his neck and waist; his eyes were dark and deep. "I have come back. I wish to see the Master of your town!"

Then there was tremendous excitement. Some of the more foolish ran out of the hut as if they expected the Mountain to go golden in the night and all the waters of the lake to turn yellow right away, as the prophecies implied. The captain of the guard came forward. "And who are these?" he asked, pointing to Fili and Kili and Bilbo.

"The sons of my father's daughter," answered Thorin. "Fili and Kili of the race of Durin, and Mr. Baggins who has travelled with us out of the West."

"If you come in peace lay down your arms!" said the captain.

"We have none," said Thorin, and if that was not quite true, perhaps the captain looked at Dwalin (glowering his best) and chose not to belabor the point. "We have no need of weapons, who return at last to our own as spoken of old. Nor could we fight against so many. Take us to your master!"

"He is at feast," said the captain.

"Then all the more reason for taking us to him," burst in Fili, who was getting impatient at these solemnities. "We are worn and famished after our long road and we have sick comrades. Now make haste and let us have no more words, or your master may have something to say to you."

That seemed to work, and the captain got up and escorted the dwarves to the town hall, with the guards milling around them. All the buildings were up on piers, and the hall itself was a grand wooden building with its doors thrown open and lamplight spilling out. Thorin took the lead up the steps, and entered calling out, ""I am Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror King under the Mountain! I return!"

The Master rose slowly from his great chair, and all around him other folk climbed to their feet as well, muttering and staring. Dwalin glowered without thinking as they surrounded him. "They're vagabonds," said a wood-elf's accented, musical voice. "They were abroad in our forest and attacked our people. Our king had them imprisoned."

The Master sucked his teeth, but before truth and lies could be discussed, Bombur stepped forward and began to sing: _"The king beneath the mountains / The king of carven stone / The lord of silver fountains / Will come unto his own...."_

By the end of the first line, some of the Men had joined in, and the elves were looking at each others with raised brows. All the dwarves joined in save Thorin, who stood looking perfectly majestic, and Bifur, who stood beside him at graceful attention, and whose boar-spear was quite as tall as any man's head. As they sang, " _His crown shall be upholden / His harp shall be restrung..._ " people came hurrying up the steps from outside, to stare and shout and sing along. When they rang to an end with " _The streams shall run in gladness/ The lakes shall shine and burn / And sorrow fail and sadness / At the Mountain-king's return!_ " there was stunned silence, followed by a tremendous roar of approval and applause. Thorin bowed.

The Master gave in to the will of the crowd, ceding his own chair to Thorin. Dwalin accompanied him, and Nori produced some thick cushions from somewhere so that Thorin could reach the table properly. The feast continued, and their fourteen extra bellies did not seem to account for much among the additional town folk now arrived; the servants merely looked put-upon, bringing out more wine and cold fish. The Master must have given orders, because as midnight approached and the festivities began to wear thin, a footman bowed to Thorin and led the company to a large, slightly musty, but quite well-furnished guest-house. Everything was man- (or elf-) sized, but Thorin accepted graciously, and when everyone was inside he shut the door firmly and locked it.

He turned and addressed them. "My people," he said, and everyone was drunk and relieved enough that there was another cheer, and Thorin smiled, "my good people.... let us take our rest and this hospitality with gratitude. For ever were the dwarves of the Mountain and the Men of the Lake allies and friends, and I am grateful and glad to be remembered as such. We can rest here a few days and plan the last leg of our great journey, and make it in strength. Bombur," and that dwarf was pulled forward, red with drink or possibly embarrassment, cheeks brighter than his hair, "thank you for your tact and timing and your beautiful voice, and shall we all cheer our quartermaster for keeping us supplied and fed all this long way home?"

"Excepting when I was asleep, and all of you pulled me," said Bombur bashfully, but this didn't stop anyone from cheering and clapping his shoulders, and Dori lifted him up on one shoulder as everyone danced merrily around. Dwalin was one of the loudest, and if he clapped Dori's shoulder too, perhaps it might go unnoticed or be forgiven. Meanwhile Thorin said something vague about people taking baths and rooms and getting rest, and slipped away himself.

Nori appeared at Dwalin's side, clapping his older brother as well on the way. "Well," he said conspiratorially, "shall we have a bath? The tubs are enormous, you shall have to keep me from drowning. And I've found quite a nice room, and locked it safe for us later." His eyes were huge and glittering, and his voice sparked electric down the nerves in Dwalin's spine.

"Aye," said Dwalin, his voice thick in his throat with lust and drink and freedom. "I shall follow you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> book-canon here mostly, because although the scene of dwalin coming up from the latrine was funny, i think it works better as a visual joke. thorin, fili, and the guards' interactions largely straight from the text by jrrt, as are the lyrics to the song.


	65. Chapter 65

The tub was deep enough that the hot water came to Dwalin's chin, and he leaned against the side with Nori cuddled in his lap. The room was big and dark and echoey, and Dwalin was drunk and free and sleepy, and very, very content. Most of the company had been in long enough to fill basins or ewers with hot water for their rooms. Balin and Dori had been in for quite awhile fussing over the provided selection of hair-oils, and Fili and Kili had splashed through the bath like young otters. Now only Bofur and Bombur remained, poking the fire occasionally and fussing over Bombur's beard, which had not benefited from imprisonment and immersion. 

Nori pulled his fingers slowly through Dwalin's pelt, collarbone to belly and back again, then down his arms, shoulders to fingertips to palms. Dwalin held him there for a moment and Nori looked up at him, eyes almost black in the dimness. Dwalin leaned down to place a kiss beside that eye, then dragged his mouth along Nori's prominent cheekbones until his beard began to tangle in Nori's mustache. He liked that well enough to release one of Nori's hands and grasp the central braid in his beard instead, just above its silver casing. He pulled their mouths together, kissing slowly and deeply, letting his tongue drift across Nori's, warmer than the warm water. Body and mind were lax with pleasure and Dwalin's eyes fell shut, and he might have been verging on sleep when Nori's fingers wound into his own beard, scratching at his skin and tugging urgently.

Dwalin chuckled without breaking the kiss or opening his eyes. Nori drew back, breathing hard and tugging harder, and Dwalin said softly, "Our room, then?"

"Yes," said Nori, adding savagely, "and you're going to fuck me."

Bofur laughed, so Dwalin did too, opening his eyes and standing up. He cradled Nori to his chest as the water sluiced off of them, feeling warm to his bones. He stepped out of the tub -- a little jarring, even for a dwarf of his size -- and murmured, for Nori's hearing only, "I certainly am. And as I said, I'm going to take all day about it, which means we start in the morning." He was yawning halfway through the sentence, supporting Nori with one arm as he reached for the towels. Nori wriggled indignantly, which Dwalin had half-expected, so he managed to hang on. "I promise," he murmured, draping a towel (definitely elf-sized) around them, and picking up their clothes-baskets, "to make it worth the wait."

Nori looked away, possibly pouting, but he prodded Dwalin this way and that as they navigated the guest-house's winding halls. At the top of a staircase, he pushed away more firmly, and Dwalin set him down. Nori reached into his hair for his lock-picks, and moments later he swung the door open and gestured inside.

The room was small and octagonal, with long narrow windows on half the walls, overlooking the few late lights of Lake-town. An oil-lamp burned low on a table, protected by its chimney from the breeze that fluttered the curtains. Dwalin lifted Nori again, without the towel this time, and swung him up onto the (definitely elf-sized, and multiple elves at that) bed and climbed up after.

Dwarves are comfortable resting on stone, the raw material from which they were created, but this bed was an entirely different experience. There were a dozen pillows of varying sizes, and gossamer-light silk blankets, and a featherbed atop the mattress. The arched bedposts might have previously served as the ribs of a ship, and the headboard made from its planks. Amidst all this luxury sat Nori, naked except for his hair-ornaments (and whatever else his hair contained), knees to his chest and looking unsuitably sullen. Dwalin loomed over him, putting one large hand on each small shoulder and pressing gently back. Nori looked up at him, emotions warring on his face, and Dwalin paused. "What is it, love?"

"All this --" Nori gestured vaguely about, then stared up into Dwalin's eyes beseechingly. "I tried to make it perfect, I wanted it to be just --"

"It is perfect," said Dwalin, and stopped pushing, instead leaning in to kiss Nori again. This took awhile, and when Dwalin stopped for breath, it took him a moment to find the thread of thought again. "You're perfect. Want to get off before sleeping?" Mahal's apron was settled low on Nori's abdomen; hot water did that to some dwarves, though. But Nori was shaking his head.

"I'll," he paused, looking thoughtful. "I'll go out for a bit, if you don't mind." Dwalin was taken aback, and it must have showed, because Nori reached up and hugged him quickly. "It's all right," said Nori. "I've thought of some things. I'll be back soon." With that, he was off the bed and digging through the clothes-basket, leaving Dwalin alone amidst the pillows. He put on several knives, a shirt, and trousers, but no boots, then stood on tiptoe and reached out for Dwalin's hand. He kissed the palm, then said, "Go to sleep, you lazy old thing. I'm just going to indulge myself a bit, and I'll be back before you notice."

"Supplies?" said Dwalin dubiously, and Nori nodded with a secretive half-smile. "If it's slick --" he started, but Nori laughed.

"Balin pointed out a great jar of blade-oil by the cloakroom," he said, "and actually blushed as he said it. And there were some little bottles in the kitchen. It's in the night-stand now, and there's ale and water and a little bread there too. Don't worry! I'll be back." Barefoot, he went not to the door but one of the windows. Dwalin got up and watched from the sill as Nori swung out -- there was no way Dwalin could have fit to follow -- and climbed calmly along the clapboard siding, clinging with fingers and toes. He stayed at the window until he lost sight of Nori's shadow in the rippling moonlight reflected from the lake.

His eyelids were heavy, but when he lay down again, he could not quite fall asleep. He disliked being alone again after the time in Thranduil's cells, and if it weren't for Nori's promise to return, he would have sought out Bifur or Thorin or even Gloin (as Balin had been so quick to spot the blade-oil, Dwalin reasoned, his brother most likely had plans). So he was still awake, though the oil-lamp had nearly burned out, when Nori returned, soft-footed, through the door.

He locked it behind himself, set a down a bundle about the size of a loaf of bread, then stripped and folded his clothes and knives back into the basket. Dwalin watched, and wanting, said quietly, "Nori. Hair down, too, please?"

Nori went stock-still, but his voice stayed easy as he answered, "I will if you'll do something for me?"

Dwalin sat up, waiting for details, but Nori was waiting too. "All right," said Dwalin. He was in no mood to argue anything, let alone refuse.

Nori unclasped the center braid of his beard, set the grip in the basket, and began to untwine it with his fingers. Dwalin moved to the edge of the bed, wondering if he might be allowed to help. He was still tired, exhausted to his bones, but he would not miss a chance to loosen those locks like dark embers in the flickering light. Nori gave him a measuring look, then said, "Come, stand here." Dwalin obeyed. Nori's beard hung long and loose in waves from his chin, nearly brushing the floor as he reached for the bundle. It was cloth, light and undyed, and Nori shook it out to reveal two soft pale gowns. "Would you wear this?" Nori asked, his voice very low. "Just while we sleep. I'll... like it, and it'll be easier to sleep that way than with you naked against me."

"All right," said Dwalin again. These must be Men's garments, he thought, and wondered if they reminded Nori of Eada. He came closer, and Nori stood on his toes to drop the larger of the gowns over Dwalin's head, pulling his arms through the blousy sleeves as if he were an oversized child. It was very fine cotton, lighter than the sheets, with an eyelet lacing; Nori loosened it till it fell around Dwalin's broad shoulders. Dwalin had never felt anything like it; it was faintly warm without being at all constricting, and Nori's hands lingered at Dwalin's collarbone. Dwalin reached for Nori's beard, but the thief moved back. He slipped on the other gown -- this one shorter, possibly a Man's shirt, reaching only halfway to his knees. It had small buttons down the front, but these did not require opening to fit over Nori's slight frame. Nori looked up at Dwalin, eyes wide but chin set, and Dwalin found he knew what to say: "You look beautiful. Come to bed, let me take down your hair."

Nori's face relaxed into a smile, and his eyes warmed. Dwalin lifted him back atop the featherbed, and turned away without being asked while Nori took out his lock-picks and some number of other items. He heard them clattering on the bed's far side, but waited for Nori's breathless "All right" before climbing back in bed himself.

Dwalin piled up the pillows, then leaned against the headboard, pulling Nori close. He had no comb, but thought he might like it better this way; each clasp opened, each braid gently unwound as Nori pressed against him, warm through the thin layers of cloth. Dwalin lost himself in the task, in the soft puzzles of untangling hair until it floated through his broad fingers, of dragging his nails against Nori's scalp until the smaller dwarf murmured with pleasure. He wished for hair-oil, but found the blade-oil as he'd been told, and its comforting scent and the thought of Balin made up for its lighter weight. When the lamp finally sputtered out its last, Nori was all but asleep as well. Dwalin ran his fingers through the wild mass of hair, then eased them down on the bed and buried his face in it. "Love you," he murmured, not caring if he was heard or not, and let sleep take him down at last.


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for kink-shaming and sexist behavior by a conservative and concerned elder sibling.

Nori was snoring, albeit softly, when Dwalin woke up, which was peculiarly comforting. It sounded more deeply restful than the thief's usual quiet, which made him seem wary even while asleep. Late-morning sunlight slid in through the narrow windows, striping the figure sprawled on his back in the bed. Nori's nightshirt had slipped up around his waist, and there was a telltale crumble along the edge. Dwalin chuckled; apparently Nori had gotten off last night after all. He thought that boded well.

He slipped from the bed as quietly as he could. Blade-oil, water, ale, and bread were a good start, but Dwalin could want things to be perfect too, and he wanted this day to set a high standard. He shifted his own gown around his shoulders, decided it was modest enough to satisfy whomever he might encounter in the house, and went out the door as quietly as he could.

Before making personal arrangements, though, Dwalin wanted to check on Kili's condition. He heard Thorin's voice and Oin's coming from a front room, and made his way there. The king and the healer were at a large table, along with Bombur and Balin, the remains of a breakfast, and a quartet of richly-dressed townsmen. They all looked up as Dwalin entered, and he did his best to loom imposingly. He thought it went reasonably well, given that the Men were sitting down. He crossed his arms before his chest, the better to display his shoulders, as Balin coughed and said, "And this is Dwalin, our master-at-arms. He shall be preparing the list of armaments we require." He fixed his little brother with a glare mixed with a wink, and Dwalin gave the room his best glower.

"First," he rumbled, "I must consult with Oin about the fitness of our fighting cadre. Master healer, a moment aside?"

The Men were staring at him, and Dwalin flexed a bit as the older dwarf rose. They left the room together, and no sooner had the door shut behind them than Oin started laughing. Dwalin's brows knit in confusion, and Oin tugged pertly at the ruffles around his neckline. "Quite the fancy lady, aren't you?" he chuckled. "Where did you even find this?"

"Nori found it," Dwalin said, not quite hedging. "It's really very comfortable."

"Very pretty too," added Oin, grin verging on lascivious.

"I'm worried about Kili," Dwalin interrupted, and Oin's expression went grim.

"The lad's got a strong spirit," he said, and Dwalin's heart sank. "The Men provided tinctures for the pain, and a poultice against infection, and he fell asleep around dawn. But there was poison on that arrow, and it had time to spread. He'll take some nursing before we can predict..." Oin trailed off, and Dwalin laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Let me know?" said Dwalin, and Oin nodded. "I'll pray Mahal and trust you," Dwalin added, and the healer nearly smiled again.

"Nori, eh?" said Oin after a moment, and Dwalin nodded. "I'll find some nice things for you lads," Oin continued. "Meet back here in three minutes?"

Dwalin gripped Oin's shoulder and smiled back. "Thank you," he said, and went off to the kitchens.

Bilbo and Dori were sharing a pot of tea, surrounded by tidy racks of baked goods and clean dishes, with more food heaped on the sideboard. Dwalin nodded a grateful good morning, then set to putting together a tray of breakfast: sliced cheese, cold sausage, fresh muffins. He was filling a teapot when he noticed Bilbo watching him, and Dori not, his handsome face bright red.

In for a pebble, in for a mountainslide. "Nori and I will be spending the day at rest," said Dwalin calmly. "Might you bring us a tray around lunchtime? We're in a room at the top of a stairs, kind of a turret...."

"Skipping elevenses, then?" asked Bilbo lightly, and at the same time Dori turned around and said, "I'll have you know, Master Dwalin, that is a lady's nightgown you have on."

"It's not a lady's," said Dwalin, which might not have been precisely true. "It's mine, and I'm a dwarf," which last was at least inarguable. "I like it," he added, realizing that it was true.

Dori turned redder. "Did my little brother put you up to this?" he asked reluctantly.

Dwalin glowered again, and this time it was not for show. "I'd do anything for Nori," he said flatly. "I've killed for him and I'd die for him too. If he likes what I wear, I'm glad." Dori met his eyes then, clearly disbelieving, and Dwalin scowled.

Bilbo sneezed, then wiped his nose on a handkerchief. His face was red too, and his nose swollen. "You look very nice, I think," he said, "though in the Shire you'd put on a dressing-gown on as well, if you were going to step outside your own bedroom. But this is very flattering. And of course someone can bring you a tray, if you'd like a lie-in. I've got a bit of a cold myself, I'm just happier being in a good kitchen at last." Dori turned his glare on Bilbo, possibly in outrage at being out-mannered.

"My brother's had a difficult life," he said slowly and clearly, "and it's no kindness to encourage his perversions."

Dwalin had had enough. "If Nori makes a dwarrow-dam out of me," he said, just as slowly, but with a growl in the back of his throat, "I promise, Master Dori, that you will hear the happy news first from me. Master Bilbo, my thanks, and I hope you feel better soon." He picked up the tray and turned on his heel, and nearly ran over Oin in the corridor.

"Oh! There you are!" Oin had clearly been waiting. He held out two little bottles. "Not my best, I'm afraid, but one works with what one has. "This one's for slick, and this for soothing," he said confidingly, placing them beside the muffins, "and here's some soft cloths as well. Tsk, looks like you forgot to take napkins with your breakfast -- impatient, eh?" The grin was back.

Impulsively, Dwalin set the tray on the floor and gave the surprised healer a brief, hard hug. "Thank you, Oin," he said, picking it up again, and all but ran through the halls and up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wrote a nori pov on related events over in a side-story, and could not resist this illustration:


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lake-town smut. I believe this is a rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, my deadline is upon me, and lo, i am slain.
> 
> i am, at least, going down with a very long chapter of smut.
> 
> i'll be back to try to finish my story before bo5a hits the local theatres (the 17th) and further corrupts the canon. i have very clear ideas of what i want to happen and how, and it's scary to imagine pj scribbling all over the public imagination with imax and actors and cgi. hope y'all stick with me and my humble little tale!

Dwalin was very glad to close the door behind him, and happier still to lock it. Nori stood by the window with an ewer and a basin, scrubbing his fingernails. Dwalin noticed a damp spot on his nightshirt, and smiled to himself. Then Nori turned to face him, and his answering smile filled Dwalin with joy.

He set the tray at the bedside and beckoned Nori over. "Ready to start the day?" he asked, and Nori nodded. "Good," said Dwalin. "Are you hungry?"

"I ate the bread," he said, almost apologetically.

"Good," said Dwalin again, and lifted Nori into the rumpled sheets. He climbed up after, pushing Nori down on his back, then spread himself over him without quite touching. Nori's ruffled collar pressed up around his neck, and Dwalin traced the edge with one finger, cool silk against warm skin.

"I'm sorry about my hair," said Nori after a moment. "It tangles, and I didn't have the time to brush it out."

"We'll tangle it more first," said Dwalin, "and then I'll comb and oil it." Nori blushed and nodded, and Dwalin undid the top button of his shirt. One advantage to Men's clothing, he decided, was the size of the buttons -- these looked dainty on the garment, but gave easily beneath Dwalin's fingers. He parted Nori's beard to see the patch of bare skin between it and the start of his pelt, and was pleased to see the blush spreading down to his collarbones. He lowered his head to kiss the heated skin, let a little of his weight settle down onto Nori's body. His hips were much broader than the thief's; that might limit some of the possibilities for positioning, depending on how flexible Nori was. "How do you like to get fucked?" Dwalin asked, feeling Mahal's apron ripple at the prospect.

"...I don't know," said Nori. He was blushing warmer now, and when Dwalin raised his head, Nori was staring at the ceiling. "I haven't been since, well, since I was a woman, and that was by a woman. So it was different. Watching you --" he broke off suddenly, audibly clamping his teeth.

Dwalin kissed him again, touched and a bit saddened by Nori's admission. "I love that you watched me," he said carefully, and felt rewarded by Nori's hands tightening on his arms. "And I want to fuck you, like I said I would, like you said you wanted." He added carefully, "Or you can fuck me again. That was amazing."

Nori made a small, self-conscious sound. "It was my first time doing that, too. I only felt like I'd be good at it because I could use my hands."

"I'm honored," said Dwalin gravely, masking his surprise, "and I would like us to do it again. It's not like lock-picking, though; it's not exactly a skill. Did it feel good, being inside me, coming in me, bringing me off with your wonderful hands?"

Nori shivered, and Dwalin grew warm with anticipation. He would coax feelings out of Nori that the thief had never known, and revel in his revelations. But first he waited for an answer, slowly undoing Nori's lowest button to while away the time. "Yes," said Nori finally, and added, "and you knew it, guardsman."

Dwalin chuckled. "I like to hear you say," he said, and let himself rut a little against Nori, feeling both of their aprons rippling back. "I love you answering me, indulging me, obeying me." He drew those phrases out, timing it carefully to the feeling of the flesh beneath the fabrics, so that the tip of Nori's hammer pressed into him by the end of the last word. Nori groaned. "I love hearing your voice without words," Dwalin added, and Nori made a rougher sound and buried his face against Dwalin's shoulder.

He could have Nori wordless and writhing, he realized, indeed they were almost there -- but it was not what they had agreed upon, and Dwalin would not be distracted from his tactics. So he pressed Nori down again, dropping his face to nuzzle between silken ruffles, licking across Nori's bare pap and biting at the pierced one before drawing back and sitting up between Nori's knees. "Turn over," he said. "Do you want your nightshirt off, or pulled up over your arse?"

Nori was unbuttoning the shirt himself with shaky hands, but he didn't slip the sleeves off as he turned face-down among the pillows. Dwalin grinned; perhaps wordlessness and writhing were still likely. He drew the silk slowly up Nori's thighs, letting the fabric perform its own caress. He paused there, admiring, and then said, "Stay still," as he took one of Oin's soft cloths and went to the washstand. Nori stayed, watching over his shoulder as Dwalin wet the cloth and wrung it out.

"I bathed," Nori muttered as Dwalin returned, and Dwalin tried not to laugh.

"I know, love, you were in my lap," he said, sitting where Nori could see him at his side. "This isn't for cleaning, it's to see what you like." Dwalin knew what he wanted next, but one unfortunately startled shield-brother had taught him caution. He lay down beside Nori, draping an arm over his silk-covered waist, kissing his neck and shoulder while stroking the damp cloth from the small of Nori's back to his knees. Nori mewled and tried to roll towards him, and Dwalin gently restrained him with an arm across his hips. "Stay there for now," he whispered. "Do you like that?" Nori nodded, more or less, wriggling hard and biting down on a pillow. "So sensitive," said Dwalin, "so keen..." He dragged the cloth down Nori's cleft, riding out a small amount of thrashing, then pushing the wet end up behind Nori's stones. They were high and tight already, and Nori tried to thrust back into Dwalin's hand as he rolled them. "Patience, little one," said Dwalin soberly, though inside he felt like a flying kite. "We're going to take all day."

Nori made a sound like a broken laugh, and Dwalin judged it safe enough to move. He set the cloth carefully aside, straddling Nori from behind, pausing to admire the contrast between pale red-haired skin and paler silk. Nori rutted hard into the mattress as Dwalin's hands drew circles on his ass, and the nightshirt rode up. Dwalin slid his hands between Nori's chest and the featherbed till he felt the hardened paps against his fingertips, then pushed Nori's knees apart with his own, and lowered his head to kiss the small of Nori's back.

He stayed there for a long moment, copper and sweat on his tongue as Nori panted. Then he nuzzled downwards, slowly settling his beard and chin between Nori's cheeks, giving the thief a chance to object if he found this too invasive. Nori went almost still, except for a fine trembling. Then he shifted his weight forwards, the wire of his piercing pressing into Dwalin's fingers, and his hips pushing back to meet Dwalin's opening mouth.

Dwalin forgot his caution then, his jaw spreading Nori wide, lips pressing in to feel the ridges and the opening, tongue to swipe broadly from stern to stem. Nori yowled and kicked, but writhed back upon him when Dwalin paused, and dropped his voice to a low moan when Dwalin, encouraged, probed more deeply with his tongue. Nori scrabbled at the bedsheets, then suddenly seemed to realize that his hands were free, and reached down towards his cock.

"None of that," said Dwalin, muffled but brusque, and Nori stopped with his fingers opening and closing on nothing. "That's for me," he added, sliding his hands over Nori's belly. He wished for the slick, but Nori was dripping with his own fluids already, wet and hot on Dwalin's palms. He cupped Nori's stones in one hand, wrapping the other around the shaft, and drew back just enough to grind out, "Now I've got you, little one. Come on, come on, come for me...." Nori bucked hard between Dwalin's face and hands, then his back arched up, hard enough for his loose hair to lash down across Dwalin's scalp as he spent.

Nori lay panting and boneless, and Dwalin kissed him gently and intimately, then reached for the damp cloth. It was cool to the touch, and he drew it across his own wet, sweaty face before attending to Nori, first from behind and then rolling the thief onto his back. Nori's eyes were half-shut, and he shuddered as Dwalin stroked the spending from his belly and chest. "What about you?" he asked, breathless and accusing.

"I'm the biggest, strongest, finest lover you'll ever have," said Dwalin, almost laughing again as he boasted, "and I haven't even started fucking you yet. Can I have your hands now? I'm about to come no matter..." He broke off as Nori reared back, levering Dwalin down with a hard forearm at his throat. Nori's other hand was on Dwalin's hammer, quick and hard and sure as ever, and Dwalin came apart as helplessly as any lock. Something licked between them like a flame, Nori's eyes wild and bright with copper and green, and Dwalin fell into them with a shout that said more than any words.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in Lake-town. Intimate conversation, leavened with smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been worried about my incompatible-with-pj's-latest versions of events, though somehow what i am writing remains comfortably in a room from which i daresay he would have looked away :) but i'm carrying along somehow, and meanwhile i hope you enjoy!

When Dwalin could think again, Nori was settled beside him, eating a muffin and drinking from a jug. Dwalin reached for him, or it, and Nori said "Let me," and poured ale into Dwalin's open mouth. Then he rolled the cool earthenware across Dwalin's chest, earning a groan.

"You liked that," said Dwalin, as relieved as he was pleased. Certainly everyone's tastes were more or less unique, even among dwarves, and Nori's history of pleasures was far more exotic than Dwalin's own. Nori was nodding, eyes warm and expression soft, and he replaced the jug with his own gentle hands stroking over and into Dwalin's thick dark pelt. "I worried you wouldn't," spilled from Dwalin's mouth, surprising even himself. "I'm not, I'm not a woman." Dori's remark had cut deeper than Dwalin had realized.

Nori nodded gravely, as though this weren't trivially obvious. "Doesn't stop you being beautiful," he said quietly, then his voice went arch, "or the biggest and strongest, as you said. Though Eada might have given you a run; she was taller, anyway. I'm not Bifur or Thorin myself," he added judiciously. "Have you ever had sex with a Man?"

Dwalin shook his head. He liked being the larger; Bifur was big and powerful, and Thorin claimed to be an inch taller, but neither was a match for him up close, and neither gave him the particular thrill of curling all around Nori's small, lithe form. "Never wanted one," he said, but continued with scrupulous honesty, "Once after a battle where our armies were allied, we were twoscore warriors together...."

"But no one personal," said Nori. His voice had gone soft again, almost dreamy. "I've never had anyone very personal since I was beardless and twenty-four. You don't even have a proper cunt," the word making Dwalin blush, "and neither have I anymore, and my brother's educated me that I shan't ever again until I find someone fit to marry. But I love your jeweled hammer and your thunderous voice, just as I love your size and your thick hair and strong arms. I loved fucking you, all slicked up, so carefully readied for me. It does seem strange -- when your cunt wants fucking, you just get wet, no messing about with oil and salve. But when you asked me.... these are the bodies we have, and I want you, I keep wanting to feel more of you. So hammers and anvils it is." But at the end of that speech he lay down, and buried his face against Dwalin's shoulder.

"Do you want to be fucked?" Dwalin asked. "Not everyone with an anvil wants it used like that. I think you liked what we just did," he waited to feel Nori's nod before continuing, "but it's no good doing other things if they go otherwise. I need you to tell me if that happens," he said, digging his fingers into Nori's hair and giving him a little shake for emphasis.

"All right, I will, I promise," said Nori, and Dwalin relaxed. "I do want to try it that way. I have since that day in the fountain, when... you were talking," and, miraculously, Dwalin felt Nori's cock twitching by his side, "and when you were with Bifur in Rivendell, I wished that were me." His voice had gone very low. "But I don't really know. I loved it so much with Eada. But that was long ago, and even my own body's changed. I don't always feel like a woman anymore."

"I don't see you as a woman either," said Dwalin. "When you were twenty-four I'd have called you a dwarfling. But if you did feel that way, I'd believe you, even if I love you as you seem to me."

Nori nuzzled into Dwalin's shoulder, curled a hand around his pectoral, pressed a finger softly over the pap just below the line of eyelet lace. "I don't know what I am," he said, a little sadly. "And I don't know if it matters. It matters a lot that you love me," and he cut himself off there, his hands gripping Dwalin's pelt. "So please yes, please fuck me, please try? And if I don't like it, I really will tell you."

Dwalin liked the tugging on his chest, and his own cock stirred at Nori's words. "All right, little one," he said, putting his hands over Nori's, spreading the long fingers with his broader ones, "and you'll also tell me if you do like it, as we go along, you'll tell me how it feels." But when he moved, he found he was content merely to drape himself over Nori, slowly kissing here and there, twining his fingers the long, loose hair. He found the nursing-token with his mouth and sucked on it, a reverence to its history. "Tell me," he murmured, the words blurred.

"You're not fucking me yet," Nori protested, and Dwalin drew back, topaz between his teeth, meeting Nori's gaze from beneath lowered brows. "Ah! It -- it hurts when you pull that far but I, no, I, ah --" he gasped, as Dwalin leaned down again, caressing the pap through the ring with just the tip of his tongue. "Oh. It hurts but it's lovely, and then your tongue on it's so hot and sweet, and it stays sweet even if you hurt it again." Dwalin smiled, rewarding that bout of coherence by bringing his teeth together again, feeling the sweetness himself when Nori gasped.

There was a knock at the door, and a clear hobbit voice announcing, "Lunch is here!"

Dwalin, mindful of Nori's modesty, draped a silken blanket over the thief as he sat up. He tugged the nightdress straight -- it was loose enough below the waist to obscure the state of his cock -- and went to the door. Bilbo looked directly up into Dwalin's face, blue eyes wide and rather fixed. Dwalin said, "Thank you, Bilbo. Sorry, still no dressing-gown."

"It's all right, you are still in your own bedroom," said Bilbo, adding confidingly, "and this is actually just elevenses. But we made biscuits and honey-tea, and I could hardly let you go without. Especially as I am feeling under the weather," he sounded apologetic, "and will be going back to bed for awhile myself."

Dwalin accepted the basket, taking out a biscuit as he did -- oatmeal and raisin, extremely pleasing. "Feel better, Bilbo," he said. "I'll check on you tonight." He'd need to check on Kili as well, and if he could find some, whiskey was a field-tested remedy for both colds and orc-poisons, and something Oin seemed unlikely to supply.

"Thanks but you --" Dwalin shut the door before Bilbo could tell him he needn't, and went back to the bed. Nori was still hiding beneath the blanket, and Dwalin pulled it back to reveal his face, flushed with repressed laughter.

"You let the hobbit see you in a nightgown!" Nori looked half-amused and half-scandalized, and Dwalin frowned.

"Him and half the company, and some Men from Lake-town besides," said Dwalin, handing Nori a biscuit and climbing back into bed beside him. "It doesn't matter what shallow thinkers make of your appearance," he said finally. "When you know your own strength, you can make of your body whatever you like." He smiled down at Nori, tugged at the silken ruffles hanging open by his sides. "Have some tea, little one," he added. "We'll have use for our strength today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section contains a few paraphrases from and in homage to @sam_ptarmigan's lovely young-Dwalin fic "The Golden Thread" -- http://archiveofourown.org/works/685514/chapters/1258129 -- Joe-Piper sez check it out!


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no 69 in chapter 69, which seems a bit sad. But there is much smut! Still in Lake-town.

They ate and drank leaning against the headboard, side by side and legs intertwined. Nori lifted up the breakfast tray for cheese and was nibbling suggestively on a sausage when Dwalin felt the need to speak again. He hemmed for a moment, then blurted out, "I... am a very large dwarf. And I've got what we call a war-hammer -- jeweled, roughed up with mementos, you know. It's not to everyone's tastes. It's fine if we leave the -- "

"I can take it." Nori sounded very determined, like a dwarfling picking up a literal war-hammer on the practice field for the first time. He swallowed the last of the sausage, following it with a deep drink of water. Dwalin cringed internally, trying very hard to keep a steady face.

"It's not can you, love. It's what you'll like. What suits you best. If that's letting me talk filth in your ear with my hands all over you, or sliding that gorgeous stiletto of yours up behind my heart -- that's perfect, Nori. You're perfect," that last whispered out as Nori did something utterly perverse, running his fingers into Dwalin's pelt and up -- even under -- the shuttered edges of Mahal's apron. Nori nodded abstractedly, moving so that he straddled Dwalin's lap, and leaned back so that Dwalin could watch as he repeated the caress with his stiletto's delicate tip. It was the most obscene thing Dwalin had ever seen, that bare rose-colored cock pushing and probing through thick black fur, slicking and silvering the curls as it dripped. The white nightgown crumpled above it. Nori thrust gently along the edge of the apron, and it slipped obligingly back. Dwalin groaned as his erection was revealed, a bit longer and much darker and thicker than Nori's, studded with blue topaz and aquamarine, jade and jet and chrysoprase.

"Mmm. My beauty." Nori stared down, rubbing his own cock against Dwalin's, Then he dragged his eyes back up to Dwalin's. "Fuck me." He looked down at the tray, picked up one of Oin's bottles, began to open it.

"Nori, no, that one's for after," and Nori smiled wickedly and set it aside.

"This one then?" he asked, hand hovering, "or blade-oil? Or must I gather up all this nice slick," he grasped their cocks together, drawing a wet line from his slit up Dwalin's shaft to the other's, "and do everything myself?"

Dwalin made a sound that was half a huff and half a groan, entirely unwillingly. One hand grabbed Nori's hip as he thrust back, the other reached for Oin's offering. "That gets sticky. You do much more," he said breathlessly, "and I won't be able to fuck at all."

"You said all day, and it's not half gone," said Nori cheerfully, stilling his hand and leaning up to nuzzle into Dwalin's beard. "Do you start with your tongue again?" He forestalled any answer by kissing Dwalin on the mouth, then drew back to ask, "Or my light fingers, like when I fucked you?"

Dwalin groaned again. "Do that," he directed, and Nori pushed him back against the headboard. He opened the bottle Dwalin held, and Dwalin obligingly poured -- it seemed rather thick, though Oin was to be trusted. But despite Dwalin's hand at his hip, Nori's balance was off, and it was clear his fingers were unpracticed at this as he swiped the stuff along his cleft.

"Better let me," said Dwalin, upending Nori without ceremony. Nori propped his head up with a pillow to watch, but his eyes closed as Dwalin guided Nori's hand. "Gently," he said, running first Nori's fingertips and then his own around the ridges, as rosy-pink as Nori's cock. "There's no such thing as using too much slick. No such thing as going too slow. Wasting oil and screaming for more is about right."

"More," said Nori, though it was more of a whisper than a scream. Dwalin pressed Nori's littlest finger towards the center, intent on practicing as he preached, He found himself thrusting hard on the mattress as the finger went in and Nori whimpered, repeating "More, more," as Dwalin led that slender finger in and out. Nori's hand twisted in Dwalin's grasp, replacing the smallest finger with his thumb. Two slow thrusts later his eyes snapped open and his voice hardened. "More, Dwalin, you --" He seized Dwalin's thumb at its base, and screwed it into himself hard and fast.

"Oh," they said at the same time. Nori's entrance was tight but not hard, and felt delicate as oiled silk. Dwalin held still, despite Nori pulling hard at his palm, and used his free hand to grab for the bottle. He pressed gently all around inside Nori, then slowly withdrew and poured out more slick. This time he pushed in deeper, crooking his thumb to see if he could persuade Nori's cock to leak a little more. To Dwalin's unspeakable joy, he could, and his breath quickened when Nori keened.

"More?" asked Nori, quavering as Dwalin paused to lick up the clear fluid.

"All you like, little one," said Dwalin, stroking his beard down to Nori's stones and across the little wrinkle of his forge behind, then darting out his tongue beside his thumb. The slick didn't even taste bad, to his surprise -- something like almonds. He licked again, and Nori whined. Dwalin reminded himself firmly that he'd already eaten lunch, and pressed his thumb further till Nori bucked and clamped down. "Is that too much?"

"Wait," said Nori, and Dwalin went completely still. "Give me a minute. And don't, don't do whatever that was again yet? I can't, I don't want to spill yet..."

Immensely gratified, Dwalin grinned, pulling back to have a care for whiskers. "We're taking all day," he answered. "Sure you don't want to? Might help you relax. And I love it when you come for me...."

"Shut up!" Nori hissed, breathing hard and clamping down. "No! I want, I want...." he trailed off into a groan, and Dwalin made very sure to keep his hand very still as he moved the rest of himself up over his partner.

"Whatever you want, little one," he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss between Nori's wide-open, shocky eyes. "Just breathe, now. You've got me," he added, and there was Nori's knife-grin.

"You've got me," Nori echoed, and shivered a little. "Can I have some water?"

"Of course," said Dwalin, and watched Nori's expressions changing as he slowly, softly withdrew his thumb. He found the water-jug and uncorked it as Nori reached for it, drank deep as if he'd been running. When he handed it back he sighed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It was easier with cunts," he said absently, "though it still worked up a thirst...." He glanced guiltily at Dwalin, who shrugged.

"Is it much different?" he asked, careful not to ask if it were better.

Nori considered, then began to rearrange himself and the pillows, putting a square one under his hips and a larger one behind his head. "Not sure," he said, "I'll need more experience first." His eyes were still wide, but the grin was back. He wriggled enticingly, cock bouncing off the curls on his belly. "More?"

Dwalin was swift to oblige, with another pour of slick and a finger longer and narrower than his thumb. Nori purred as he was breached, and Dwalin slipped in as if welcomed. A second finger followed easily enough, and Nori's eyes went glassy with pleasure as Dwalin moved them together and around and apart. "More," whispered Nori some time later, but when Dwalin pressed up a third, he shook his head and murmured on, "I want your cock, your beautiful jeweled war-hammer, all that treasure, you promised me..."

"Aye," said Dwalin, and if he'd become preoccupied with his fingers, his cock demanded all attention now. Slowly, he reminded himself, and carefully, even while Nori's words rang in his ears. He let his fingers slip, watched Nori watching him as he slicked up his cock, knowing by the sudden acquisitive gleam in Nori's eyes when the jewels took on a wet shine. But whatever the pleasure in watching and being watched, Dwalin wanted most to hold and touch, and he rolled Nori off the pillows and onto his side. He curled around and behind the thief, burying his face in the wild tangled hair, pausing for the briefest moment to twist Nori's nursing-jewel. Then he reached down to adjust the layers of blankets, accommodating his wider hips so his cock fit straight along Nori's cleft. Nori wriggled back against him, whining wordlessly, and Dwalin angled himself carefully and slowly, slowly thrust.

Nori yowled as the thick head slipped in, but there was almost no resistance, and Nori pushed hard for another inch immediately. Dwalin growled, then put a hand on Nori's hip to restrain him, feeling the pressure as the first of his cabochons passed the enclosing ring. Nori rocked back and forth upon it, then reached down and pulled Dwalin's hand to his bare hard cock instead. He was dripping again, a hot smear on Dwalin's fingers. and Dwalin trembled as he moved as slowly as he could. Nori was not so restrained, thrusting up into Dwalin's grip and back along his cock in turn, taking him deeper every time. As Dwalin sank in to the hilt, Nori began to roll rather than thrust, pulling Dwalin's captured length at angles, sliding from gem to gem, and cried out, "More!"

Dwalin answered with a bellow and a string of hard, quick bucks, driving percussively against Nori's arse. It took all his restraint not to roll right on top of him, to press down with all his weight, but even as he thought that Nori cried out again. His cock leapt in Dwalin's hand and his head rolled back as he spent, and Dwalin followed him with a shout. As they pulsed and shivered together, Dwalin bent his head and bit down on the soft bare spot where Nori's neck and shoulder met, tasting copper and electricity as well as skin and salt, drawing in Nori's essence even as he filled Nori with his seed.

Eventually they shook their way to stillness. Dwalin loosed his jaw, murmuring a kiss over the abused skin as Nori shuddered once again. Carefully, Dwalin withdrew his softening cock and wrapped his arms entirely around Nori's small form. Holding him close, he rolled them over to a cool spot in the bed. The sun shone in a stripe across them, and a breeze from the window ruffled their hair and pelts and soft pale fabrics. Nori curled up small, pulling Dwalin around him like a cloak.

Dwalin was dizzy and exhausted and exhilarated. "Thank you, love," he whispered behind Nori's ear, and at length Nori echoed back, "Love."


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lake-town. There's other stuff you're supposed to be doing, guys.

Dwalin woke to slanting sunshine and a clap at the door. Feeling both obliged and more than a little put out, he unwrapped himself from Nori. The nightgown was crumpled and damp, and he made a vague effort to straighten it before answering.

Bofur stood on the threshold, looked Dwalin up and down, and started laughing. He was carrying an armful of cloth, and said "Bilbo said you'd need these, and he was right, wasn't he? They're dressing-gowns. You're wanted in the parlor -- dressing-gowns and your smalls is fine, there's Dori and a Man tailor fitting clothes for us. And an armorer, waiting for you and a list of weapons against the dragon." He chuckled again. "Or whatever you want us armed for, I guess."

"You get a mattock," said Dwalin sourly. "You'll find a use." He closed the door. When he turned back, Nori was sitting up in bed, unbuttoned night-shirt falling off his shoulders and surrounded by a wild cloud of beard and hair. "Do you want to go?" Dwalin asked, as if they had a choice.

"Not particularly," said Nori, stretching indulgently and smiling. "Dori knows my size; he fitted everyone at Beorn's, and it's the kind of thing he remembers. And I armed myself at good king Thranduil's." He pushed both hands into his hair, took them out with bright blades flashing.

"You had those in there, through.... all... that?" asked Dwalin. "Sweet Mahal. Still trying to cut me if I get too close?"

Nori's smile broadened into a grin. "You're safe as houses with me," he said, though his face went shy as he added, "shield-brother."

Dwalin found himself grinning back wider. "My love," he rumbled, advancing on the bed. He had been on the edge of sleep, but was fairly certain he'd heard Nori mention that sentiment earlier, and even if it was a dream it was one he liked very much. Nori's eyes went wide as Dwalin climbed back into bed and crawled on top of him, pressing Nori's smaller body deep into the featherbed. The nightgown was sticky between them, and Dwalin huffed as he raised a hand to paw at it.

"Let me." Dwalin reared back a few inches, and Nori made quick work of the lacings. Loosened, the gown slipped easily over Dwalin's hips, and Dwalin lay down atop Nori again, huffing again at the pleasure of skin on skin. Some time passed by in easy ecstasy as they lay together, kissing and stroking, touching and murmuring, before there was another, much louder, banging at the door.

"Go away," Dwalin yelled, but the banging repeated itself. Dwalin pushed himself off Nori with a curse and stamped to the door. He flung it open and was eye-to-eye with Bifur, or rather the edge of the blade on Bifur's boar spear.

For a moment Bifur seemed to be trying to restrain himself, and then he was roaring with laughter. He tried to sign, then shook his head and went on laughing. Dwalin attempted an icy glare, but couldn't maintain it either. He chuckled himself, rather sheepishly, and said, "Tell them we'll be down soon, okay?"

Actual tears were leaking from the corners of Bifur's eyes by then, but he pulled himself together enough to sign _I will,_ then added, _You don't like the --_ ; and he gestured as if pulling on a robe, while poking at the pile of cloth on the floor with the capped butt of his spear.

"They're fine, I'm sure," said Dwalin, and bent to pick them up. Bifur gave Nori a cheeky wave, patted Dwalin's shoulder, and went back down the stairs. Dwalin turned around with his arms full of fine cloth, and saw that Nori had pulled the bedcovers up around himself, and was blushing brighter than his hair. Dwalin was beside him in an instant and would have kissed him again, but Nori slipped away to the bed's far side.

"Dori's going to kill me," he pronounced, collecting his weapons and pulling on his clothes, mostly out of Dwalin's sight. Dwalin sighed and managed not to pout. Instead, he put on his own smallclothes and unfolded the dressing-gowns. One was clearly intended for a Man-child, yellow with a cheery fish embroidered on the back, and nowhere near broad enough to accommodate Dwalin's shoulders. The other was made of a brittle, ancient-feeling wool, dyed a faded red, and only a little too small. Perhaps it had lingered in some storeroom since before the dragon. Dwalin felt a lump in his throat as he tied its belt, and went around to bury his face and his sudden sadness in Nori's still-loose locks. Nori elbowed him in the ribs, not gently, but Dwalin withstood it. They rocked together for a moment, and Nori whispered, "Don't we have to go?"

"We do," said Dwalin, close by Nori's ear, "but we'll come back. Like we're going back to Erebor," he added helplessly. He was trying not to weep.

Nori slipped an arm around Dwalin's waist, then reached up to press a small folded knife into Dwalin's hand. "We're going back," he repeated, "dragon and Dori and all. We could die, we could have died a dozen times already. We haven't yet." He sidled out of the embrace, pulling back his hair. "We're alive and we're together," he added gruffly, "and we'll keep going, Dwalin, right?"

"Right," said Dwalin. His hands came up of their own accord and began the six-strand braid from the center of Nori's chin, and Nori allowed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all share the familial laugh.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' stuff done in Lake-town.

The entire company was gathered in the parlor, including Kili, who was pulling on a pair of trousers with unusual delicacy. Dwalin half wished he'd come down earlier and seen the wound, and was half very grateful for his actual timing. Kili met his eyes as he finished lacing and buttoning, and gave Dwalin a watery version of his grin. Bilbo at least seemed much better, and was explaining waistcoats to a tailor with considerable spirit.

The room was piled with armor, weapons, clothing, and assorted impedimentia. Many were obviously Men's things, children's even, generally ill-proportioned for dwarves (though a few pieces fit Kili remarkably well, tall and slim as he was). A tailor was refitting a Man-sized sheepskin coat for Bombur, and Dori was making an impressive show with a Man-sized flail. But what drew Dwalin's eye were the little piles of older items, in styles he remembered from his childhood. Dwarrow-dams' dresses with wide sleeves and deep necklines to display jewelry, hair- and beard-ornaments made of polished wood, heavy leather armor with carvings full of dust. Dwalin blinked hard several times, then settled himself beside one of those heaps, trying to find a new pair of boots that fit. That was easier than he would have expected, and came with a vivid memory of going to Lake-town with Fundin (then called Papa, or Adad, or Si) and Balin to visit the cobbler, and new boots stuffed with fleece "for room to grow". The ones he took now were fleece-lined as well, dyed a deep but faded green. A Man asked him politely if they were suitable, and at Dwalin's nod he picked them up and set to rubbing with an oily cloth. "Don't wear them until tomorrow," the Man cautioned, "but they'll be waterproof after that," and Dwalin had to blink hard again as he nodded.

He picked through the weapons-pile, eyeing the company as he did. Truly, he did not know how to arm them now. There was nothing -- there could be nothing -- that a dwarf could wield against a dragon. There had been talk, in taverns and in guild-halls over the years, of siege-engines or explosives -- but those would inevitably bring down the mountain as well, and Dwalin could never condone that additional layer of self-destruction. In the end, he chose bows and arrows for such as could use them -- himself, Thorin, Balin, Gloin; Kili if he could so much as walk -- a good-sized sling for Ori, and spears for everyone else, as well as knives and hatchets for ordinary use. More personal weapons, he decided, he would leave to personal choice. Most likely there would be no one to fight. It was not as if they could win a battle if the city of Men turned against them, nor make their way back through Mirkwood, nor survive a winter without shelter. But he caught Thorin's eye for a moment, and Thorin came over to sort through axes as Dwalin began balancing and sharpening.

Someone brought in a late supper, and Dwalin was surprised to find Dori serving him, offering wine and water along with fried fish and black bread. Some vestige of manners made him take the proffered napkin first and clean the blade-oil from his hands, at which he noticed Balin beaming at him over Dori's head. He ducked back, blushing, and his thanks came out gruff as Dori bowed. Trust Balin to make everything right, he thought. My big brother. Thorin will rule well and long, if only he listens to everything Balin says.

By the time Dwalin was satisfied with the state of their armory (Thorin had left a pair of axes at Dwaln's side, their handles leather-wrapped and their blades newly sharpened and engraved) it seemed very late, though the room was still abuzz with activity. Ori was asleep in one corner of a tremendous Man-sized couch, with a fur pulled over him and Bifur and Bombur sewing backpacks at his side. The rest of the couch was similarly piled with furs. Dwalin remembered the cold of training on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain by winter dawn, and went to investigate.

Most of the hides were stiff with age, but as he dug through his fingers touched something so sleek even his callouses did not snag. He pulled out an ermine cape, lined with heavy burgundy silk. It had the look of a court garment -- Man-sized, it would be too short to be protective; on a dwarf it might make a practical garment as well as a beautiful one. On impulse, he looked around for Dori, who was stitching prosaic buttons onto oilskin. He stood up and mustered what dignity he could, and in three strides stood before his lover's brother.

Dori looked up, and then further up, which pleased Dwalin even as he dropped to one knee in his best version of what Balin had insisted were proper courtly manners. He would have liked to say something formal as well, but that had never been his skill; he settled for "This might suit," while holding the garment out. Dori folded his handiwork and set it aside, then stood and drew on the cape with the dignity of royalty. It was just broad enough for his shoulders and hung below his knees, the white furs bright enough by firelight to reflect a little silver from his hair.

Everyone was staring, except Ori, who took the moment to snore loudly and turn over. Dori smiled indulgently, and a trace of the expression remained as he looked back at Dwalin. "Thank you," he said. "It's very warm." But his fingers caressed the trailing black tails, and rubbed over the silk inside, long enough for Dwalin to smile back before he turned away.

There were not, sadly, enough furs in good condition to outfit everyone that way. Bearskin boots were found to fit Bombur and Bofur as well (though the miner protested the lack of steel toes, which given that they were unlikely to be mining anytime soon, Dwalin overrode). There was a great lot of Man-sized muskrat coats, which Balin, Dori, Oin, and Gloin set to stitching back up as winter-weight blankets. Dwalin gave a wolfskin with the face and paws still attached to Fili, who immediately turned around and tried it on Kili. To Nori, who was industriously packing little kits of thread and sharps for fishing and mending, he presented a soft fox stole. Dwalin had to step back from the smile he received in response, lest he give in to the desire to see Nori dressed in nothing else right there in the parlor.

Nori clearly felt no similar reservations. He stood up and stretched, tipping his head to show his bare neck, then trailing the fur along it. Dwalin blushed furiously and turned away. There was still work to be done. A young Man had come in and was consulting with Oin over Kili. His trousers were off again, and the woman had her fingers on the pulse-point in the lad's wrist and was shaking her head over the wound. Kili looked angry, or possibly pained; his teeth were bared and he clung to Fili's shoulder. He looked imploringly at Dwalin, who frowned back; it was not up to him to determine who was fit to fight when proper healers were available. Then Nori twisted the fox-fur around Dwalin's wrist, and Dwalin was drawn away as if he were helpless in that matter just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As well as I can figure, Lake-town used to be a trading center for all manner of Free People, situated between the Men's city of Esgaroth and the Dwarves' of Erebor, fed by the River Running and the water-trade from the Greenwood as well as overland. At this point in the story, it is the only remaining settlement inhabited on the Long Lake, and contains many old, unused stores from its grandeur in days of old.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in Lake-town? There must be more smut!

Nori led Dwalin back to their room, pulling him with the fox-fur, and Dwalin went like a dog trained to the leash. When the lamp was lit and the door was shut behind them, Nori wrapped the length of the stole behind Dwalin's neck and rose onto his toes to press his mouth into Dwalin's throat. Dwalin groaned and lifted Nori bodily from the floor, leaning back against the door with his lover's weight against his chest. "How could you just sit down there working?" Nori demanded, a little muffled behind Dwalin's beard. "I could hardly think, I can still feel where you were.... inside me...." He tipped his pelvis upwards and Dwalin groaned again.

"Need Oin's soothing salve?" he asked, concerned, but Nori shook his head. "We have to be ready to go," Dwalin went on, "guests and fish stink after three days --" He was cut off by Nori's mouth, sharp teeth first, then his tongue sliding in as Dwalin's lips parted. Nori was working their new clothes open from the bottom, pressing into each sweet new inch of skin on skin. When their chests were bared, one of Nori's hands came to tug Dwalin's beard while the other plucked at his paps. Dwalin shifted Nori's slight weigh to carry him to the bed, and Nori clung as Dwalin climbed up into it. Nori spread his knees and Dwalin settled into the comfortable, familiar space between, taking Nori's wrists as he liked to, and loosing the braid he'd put in that dark red beard himself. When it was out, he carded his fingers through it thoughtfully. "I'll have you again on the road, if you want," he said, low-voiced, mostly to see Nori's eyes get big. "Heat up your hole with my mouth when it snows. Fuck you face-down into Smaug's hoard, make you come with your cock sliding through soft-gold coins." There was the expression he wanted, open-mouthed and shocky-eyed, something moving through like electricity. Mahal's apron pressed up against his new, hemmed-up Men's trousers, and he released one of Nori's wrists. "Start now, get everything off us," he whispered. Nori nodded frantically, and nimble fingers soon reached inside to caress the hardened hammer. "Off," said Dwalin again, arching up to help Nori pull the cloth away. It was just as well he wasn't wearing boots. He reared back further, admiring Nori's agility as he curled up to strip off his own things. When they were down to sleeves entangling at the cuffs, Dwalin reluctantly let go, and Nori tossed the garments away.

Dwalin settled down again. As they lay face-to-face, not kissing but gazing into each other's eyes, the tip of Dwalin's prick just nudged the soft little wrinkle of Nori's forge. Nori's hips rolled at the contact and his breath came quick, and he grabbed on hard to the back of Dwalin's neck. "Want you in my cunt," he whispered, "want you everywhere, everything...." His head rolled back and his hips tipped up higher. "Where's Oin's..."

"Everything I've got, everything you've got," Dwalin answered. He had no idea where OIn's provisions had gone, and but for a hundred years of habit, might have foregone to care. He sank his teeth into Nori's neck, tasting skin and salt and copper and electricity, every sense alive and filled. Nori, whose experience might be said to have begun that very day, was nevertheless skilled at managing unseen objects, and no sooner was Dwalin groping for a bottle than slick was dripping into his palm. He caressed Nori with it, paying great attention to every inch. He began with the curl of hair at the small of Nori's back, tipped up towards him like a flower looking towards the sun. He smoothed down the cleft, broad fingers aligned to be gentle, then stirring further when he reached Nori's hole -- one finger slipped in with wicked ease, and Nori cried out and bit back. Dwalin murmured soothingly, "You'll have everything, thief, everything you want, everything you can take, everything I have...." and Nori wriggled, pushing for a second finger.

"More", he said beseechingly, but Dwalin did not give him that. Despite his words, his hands moved on: stroking the outlines of Nori's forge, tight and silky and hardly half an inch long; then the hammer-stones in their bag, as heavy and tight as Dwalin's own. Then he pulled slowly along the smooth, tense length of Nori's stiletto cock, Oin's slick making wet sounds as Dwalin's rough fingers wound together around the head, a higher, sharper sound coming from Nori's mouth. He bit Dwalin back, seeking the pap in the thick black pelt and finding it, his teeth almost chattering until Dwalin called out in return. Then Nori swept his fingers down Dwalin's spine, plying the same track on Dwalin as Dwalin had on him, but faster, delicate and deft. Dwalin roared and ground back as Nori breached him, slender fingers feeling for sensitive spots like a lock-pick pressing each pin into its notch. Nori laughed -- an actual laugh, with a smile and his eyes crinkling up -- so Dwalin kissed him hard and grabbed his thighs, hoisting him up to penetrate without another word.

Nori's hand still reached around Dwalin's thigh. When Dwalin pushed inside him -- _too hard_ , Dwalin thought, -- even as Nori groaned and pushed back, his fingers tickled Dwalin's forge. The strangest sensation shot through him, straight up his spine, ringing in his ears and sparking his vision into copper and white light. He bucked harder than he thought he should have, and Nori cried out, grinding up hard against him. They battered each other, skin striking on skin, voices rising in wordless counterpoint, eyes locked together. Then Dwalin knelt up, gathering Nori in his arms to kiss him deeply. Nori's fingers slipped up and pushed into Dwalin, very slowly and with very little slick, slender and shallow and incredibly invasive. Dwalin roared and came, plunging forwards with all his weight and strength, falling as if into an endless chasm, into the copper-shot darkness of Nori's open eyes.

When he could think again, Nori was lying under him, rutting slow and hard on Dwalin's belly. One hand still lay with a delicate fingertip pressed a little inside, and the other wound around Dwalin's neck. As Dwalin gasped and panted, Nori said conversationally, "I'd kindle you if I could. Make you so hot and wet that you'd beg for me, for my hands and my mouth and my.... cock... . too...." Whatever expression crossed Dwalin's face at that was enough for Nori, whose eyes closed as his body went electric. He came hard, thrusting into the soft pelt on Dwalin's belly, and Dwalin felt sparks firing between them wherever they touched.

Dwalin twined his fingers into Nori's, bring them from his nape to his mouth to kiss. Conscious of his own weight, he rolled off onto his back, then pressed against Nori's side. The current still ran between them, hand to hand, from Dwalin's chin to Nori's shoulder, from his limp cock to Nori's thigh. On the high ceiling, small white lights began to stir and swirl: the reflection of dawn on little waves on the Long Lake.


	73. Chapter 73

Bofur knocked at the door, and this time he whistled as he looked Dwalin's naked form up and down. But his voice was gentle, with only the slightest trace of laughter, when he said, "Thorin wants us out in half an hour. There'll be a boat and a procession thereunto, full armor or whatever fancy clothes you got. Bombur's packed your things; Nori should probably look to his own." He set down a tea-tray containing a pot and mugs, biscuits, scones, and sausages, then turned away and headed back down the stairs. Halfway down he turned back, and gave Dwalin a look that was both a leer and a wink. Dwalin grinned despite himself, then turned to take the tray in for Nori.

He poured the tea and set the mug into Nori's hand, holding it steady there as he would for Balin. But Nori woke abruptly with a convulsive grip, and Dwalin had to steady it lest it spill. Nori's other hand reached up for Dwalin's beard, but Dwalin sat stolidly, resisting the temptation of that pull. "Half an hour," he said, trying to be brusque but not managing it. "Can you sit up? We've got Oin's salve, and I can comb your hair before you braid."

Nori's eyes narrowed but he obeyed, grimacing slightly as he moved. Dwalin felt himself blush, and handed over Oin's second offering. He had made a sleepy effort with it earlier, but it was the kind of thing most usefully applied by oneself. He watched Nori drink deeply of the tea, then turned away and began to dress himself, limiting himself to the occasional peek at Nori's contortions, his elegant fingers, his sweet pink -- Dwalin dropped his mug, which was fortunately empty by then, and allowed himself to curse as he retrieved it from under the bed.

Nori's look, when Dwalin rose, was warm and pleased and even smug. But all he did was hand Dwalin a comb and a leather-stoppered bottle of hair-oil, and all he said was, "Straight back, no parts at all, I'll do that later." Dwalin sat down obediently, and Nori sat in front of him, almost hidden behind the great late-sunset cloud of tangled hair. Dwalin set to work with a soldier's efficiency, and the occasional caress when bare skin or tender scalp were revealed hardly took any time at all. Meanwhile Nori ate most of the sausages, and fed Dwalin the biscuits a bite at a time over his shoulder. He let Dwalin put in the six-strand braid in the center of his beard, and had the rest of his styling nearly finished at the same time.

Dwalin's untamed hair and short beard took no work at all, and they had only the new clothes they'd worn upstairs, aside from Oin's gifts and a fair quantity of Nori's personal weapons (Dwalin had, to his own astonishment, left his new Grasper and Keeper down in the parlor). For a moment they stood by the door, side-by-side, looking back at the great bed with its silken outfitting. Dwalin would have taken Nori's hand and led him away, but Nori dashed back to it, retrieving one small feather pillow and a sheet folded up small as a hand. He murmured "Supplies...." and they left the door open behind them.

There was a scene unfolding in the parlor. "I belong with my brother," said Fili flatly, as Thorin looked at him with betrayal and dismay. The heir turned and walked out past Nori and Dwalin as if he hadn't seen them; indeed Dwalin thought he probably hadn't, as the Durin-blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Thorin remained motionless as Oin followed Fili a moment later, though Balin came to his side then and took hold of the King's hand.

After a moment, Gloin stood up, his pack on his back and a great and varied set of axes arrayed along his body as well. "I'll stay with 'em too," he said, coming to Thorin and taking his other hand between his own. "We'll catch up as soon as the young lad's fit to walk. I'll look after them, don't you have any worry." Thorin turned to face his cousin, expression still devastated, and Gloin slammed their foreheads together, embracing Thorin with both arms. After a moment, Thorin gripped Gloin's shoulders in return, and when they let go his eyes and mouth were softer. "Company, we will meet on the Mountain!!" shouted Gloin, and strode out with his head high and his blades shining. Everyone cheered then, including Thorin.

"If we have an army, I'm making that one a general," Dwalin whispered to Nori, who nodded. Then Bombur was upon them, with helmets and feathers and other ridiculous items that he insisted were necessary for the procession. It would be a grand show, he said, and they could leave the fripperies behind in the boat.

"The company's four short now," said Bombur, as if the other dwarves couldn't count. "So we'll mill about, look flashy, make a show of it. We want to leave the Men happy as we can, especially since we aren't all leaving. Sigrid the healer has taken Kili in -- his leg is twisting like a tree-branch in the wind, and he can hardly tell if he's in Lake-town or back in Mirkwood's cells." He shuddered all over, an impressive sight. "Her father had something to say about it, very loudly indeed, but there's no arguing with healers, dwarf or Man."

Dwalin nodded, hoping that the rest of them would be able to get by without Oin's considerable skills during the next part of their undertaking. He could staunch a wound or set a bone himself at need, and Thorin had a fine hand at stitching. But neither of them knew much about burns, or falls, or taking on water. Dwalin forced his thoughts away from possible disasters and from Bombur, who had fixed a series of plumes to Dwalin's helmet, reminiscent of the hairstyle he'd worn before Azanulzibar. He went to check that their supplies at least contained silk thread and fine needles, heal-all salve and boneset, and plantain and calendula which he vaguely remembered as being good for burns. In fact he found them (fortunately labelled in little glass jars, as he might not have recognized the herbs) in Fili's pack, and he set to redistributing what was left among the remaining dwarves. (Bilbo was laden down with food, and Oin had apparently taken all his things with him, about which Dwalin decided to reserve his feelings.)

At last -- and it probably wasn't more than half an hour, Thorin being good at organizing despite the hollow look around his mouth -- they were ready. Balin spoke briefly with a Man in the hall, and the house's doors were flung open to a loud and tuneless trumpet salute. Men crowded the walkway, so Balin sent Bifur out first, chanting aloud in Khuzdul and slashing about with his Man-sized boar-spear. (Dwalin noted with amusement that he was careful to keep the blade higher than even the tallest Man's head, but that didn't stop the Men from shrinking back with shrieks of terror and joy.) The plain browns and dark greys of his traveling clothes had been replaced with black-leather armor chased in silver and gold, and a thick cloak of green-dyed silk that brought out the green of his eyes. He looked wild as a tiger, lowering his head and charging (very slowly) in a zigzag line towards the docks.

Behind him came Thorin himself, regal and tall and walking strictly straight, a black-and-gold crown atop his black-and-silver locks. A step behind him at left and right were Dori in his ermine and Balin with red garnets in his white beard. Ori walked behind them, tall and self-conscious, staring in all directions as if to memorize the scene, and Bilbo trotted by his side, curiosity just as clear on his small face (despite the handkerchief that occasionally covered his nose). Bombur came next, round and red-cheeked as an apple in his warm sheepskin and gloriously braided beard. Then came Nori, who looked frankly terrified at all the attention, and Dwalin put a protective hand on his shoulder. He stood up straighter at that, and Dwalin was conscious that his own blue-and-black feather crest brought him up to the height of the tallest Man there.

Now Dwalin could see the trumpeters, Men in full ceremonial armor with feathers in their helmets as well. Far ahead of them was a little stage, and the Master of Lake-town standing upon it, apparently arguing with one of his citizens. He straightened up as they approached, guided more or less by the trumpeters, as Bifur was inclined to travel somewhat widely. When they arrived, there was a long boat with a dozen oars awaiting them, tied to the docks beneath the Master's stand.

The Master made a speech, for which Thorin and Balin and Dori stood attentively, and Dwalin and Bombur and Bifur (having set aside his boar-spear) collected everyone's packs and stowed them in the boat. Thorin said something majestic back, there was another ear-shattering roar from the horns, and everyone climbed down into the boat. They were somewhat stymied by their general lack of boating experience, not to mention the fact that the boat had been arrayed for twelve rather than eight, but after a few alarming swings towards the piers, they made it out to open water. Their movement was slow and unsteady, but Lake-town and its musicians fell behind them, and the Lonely Mountain rose up before.

Thorin started singing, and before the first phrase was over, all of their voices rose as one: _"Far over... the Misty Mountains cold...."_

Their rowing settled into the rhythm, and they moved across the clear water, aiming for the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little book canon, a little movie canon, and a whole lot of this-is-just-me.


	74. Chapter 74

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same story is told from this point in time, from a very different perspective, in another fic of mine -- "Knock at the Door" at http://archiveofourown.org/works/1238473 -- and arguably makes considerably more sense over there. (It also ends later, but this story will get their on its own, too.)

The stone piers at the mouth of the River Running still stood intact, white and shining in the evening light. With some effort, the dwarves drew their little boat to one, and Nori hopped out and tied up as if he'd done this every day of his life. Dori began handing up their baggage, beginning with Bilbo, whose protests of indignity were, as usual, cheerfully ignored.

Dwalin had rarely been to the docks -- his early days had been spent mostly under the Mountain, and even its slopes had, at the time, seemed like an excursion. They seemed only vaguely familiar to him, though some of the older dwarves were very excited, speaking in half-whispers as if there might be ghosts about. Balin pointed out a kind of limpet clinging just beneath the waterline, with a gleam in his eyes that might have been avarice or tears: they could, he said to Ori, be used to produce a kind of glue, suitable for closing wounded flesh. Dwalin raised his scarred eyebrow, and Balin looked at him, bemused. "Would have saved your good looks, little brother," he said, and Dwalin had to laugh.

"Don't remind Oin, he's proud of my looks as they are," said Dwalin, and Balin laughed back. That broke the tension, and Dwalin felt good as they walked together down the long pier. The dock-market stands were gone, though their foundations and pavings were still firm and square, marked only faintly by lichens. Thorin kicked at the joints appreciatively, then announced that they would camp there for the night. They would send out a hunting-party (the Lake-towners had not been especially generous with meat) and consult their map, and Balin would read the portents. Dwalin would have enjoyed a hunt, but Thorin wanted him to discuss tactics, which meant that since Gloin was also gone, the hunting-party would have no archer. Bifur muttered something in Khuzdul, unintelligible and possibly purposefully so. He signed for Ori to get his sling, picked up two spears and tossed one to Bofur. They strode up into the foothills, while Bombur began the search for firewood. Dori began to unpack and make camp, with Nori fetching and carrying.

Their company seemed suddenly meager. Oin should have been the one to read the portents, and Kili (thus inevitably Fili) on the hunt. Gloin would doubtless be smoking (Lake-town still traded in pipe-weed, though the stuff wasn't up to Dwalin's own standards), and perhaps writing yet another unlikely-to-be-received-or-even-sent letter home. Balin and Bilbo sat down at Thorin's right and left, and Dwalin put himself opposite the King.

"We need to find the door," said Thorin crisply. It had been clear from the beginning that the map was more symbolic than directional, and not even Balin had been old or highly-placed enough to have known the door's secrets. It appeared to be on the southern face of the westernmost slope, perhaps halfway to the altitude of the single peak. But confronted, even at this distance, with the Lonely Mountain's sheer size and complexity, it was clear it would not be simple to find. It might be hidden beneath the tree-line; it could be buried behind the cap of ice and snow. "We have very little time."

"Four more days till Durin's Day," said Balin, and Dwalin nodded. That much he could feel for himself, the bite of winter coming on the wind.

"It's an easy day's march to Dale, a hard one to Erebor," Dwalin put in, mostly for Bilbo's benefit. Thorin and Balin nodded; they had done the same training in their own youths. "Road's probably still good." He thumped the old market's stones for emphasis.

"A hard day to Ravenhill," said Balin, referring to the southern reach where the old guard-post had been. "We shall see the Gates from there." The notion made Thorin and Dwalin exchange an uneasy look. Smaug had entered the mountain through the Front Gate, and they had seen the Left Gate destroyed as if by an avalanche from within.

"Ravenhill's too exposed. Bad for weather or being seen," said Dwalin quickly. "We leave the road south of Dale and go cross-country."

Thorin nodded judiciously. Bilbo took the map and peered at it, turning it this way and that. The hobbit might know his tengwar, but not his cirth, and seemed to think that "up" on the page should mean north rather than east. Thorin turned it properly in his hands, pointing out the mark for the Back Door. "That's your destination, BIlbo," he said gravely. "You will go within, and though my Kingdom is in our sight but not our power, you will bring out the Arkenstone that shall mark me as Durin's rightful heir."

"The first father of you all," said Bilbo, and Balin smiled and nodded encouragingly. "From Ori's tale. And the Arkenstone, was that his?"

But Thorin had passed into a sort of reverie, his chin in his hands, looking at Bilbo but not quite seeming to see him. "The Arkenstone," he murmured, "It shone like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the Moon!" He might have been quoting something. Then he shook it off, and said, "No, or we don't know. A miner found it during my grandfather's reign, already glorious without a single jeweler's cut. Some say Durin made it, under the tutelage of Mahal; others that it was a gift from our Maker himself. In any case it inspired reverence among all who beheld it, and Thror had it placed in his throne. Our people have always been of seven nations, but Durin's sons have always been our Kings of kings, and all swore themselves to the Line of Durin by the Arkenstone's light." His voice had gone distant again, deep and resonant, and Bilbo stared up at his face. Thorin caught his eye, suddenly and so fiercely that Dwalin stared at the two. "It means more to us than any gold."

There was a brief, shocked silence, and Dwalin wondered what might have passed through that gaze. But all Bilbo did was shake his head and laugh. "A single stone," he said. "Bless me! I should think that stealing thirteen dwarves was harder, though that was only from elves."

That made Dwalin laugh as well, and say "I doubt Nori would say you stole _him_." Bilbo looked at him, still smiling, for once not seeming afraid of him or anything else. Not even the dragon, thought Dwalin, and smiled back. Balin coughed, interrupting.

"Oin's readings," he said, "seemed to indicate that we might reclaim our entire kingdom at this time. But our first step, and possibly our last, could be to take only the Arkenstone, and claim Thorin's right to rule by the oaths taken before it. It might be possible to directly attack the dragon after that, with all of our kind's tactics and skills -- for he will not be brought down by any army. And, if not," Balin sighed, "at least we might regain some of our heritage, and our proper position among our own kind. We have been but wandering refugees since Erebor fell."

Dwalin could see the hobbit not quite believing him, looking over Balin's strong figure in his his fine clothes. "We lost our home, Mister Baggins," said Dwalin abruptly. "Think if you lost Bag End?"

Bilbo's eyes softened, though he looked at Thorin rather than Dwalin when he answered. "I will help you," he said, not loud but clear.

Thorin nodded. He turned to Balin and asked, "Will you read the portents?"

Balin took a padded bag from an inner pocket, and emptied it out on the paving between them. There were dice, thirteen of them, each a perfect figure made from polished stone. He set the sphere -- which was white, Dwalin realized, white opal, possibly representing the Arkenstone or whatever the Arkenstone represented -- in the center, and divided the dice. He hesitated, glancing at Bilbo, before including the hobbit and giving them each three. "I'll cast," he said, explaining, "then Dwalin, then Thorin, then Bilbo. Just watch us, and do the same." The hobbit nodded, and Balin murmured the invocation in Khuzdul and threw his dice.

Dwalin closed his eyes before he threw, though he still felt it when his twelve-sided jadeite touched the white stone in the center. Thorin's toss sent several of the other stones rolling. Then Bilbo's knocked the sphere hard enough that it bounced right up off the pavement and nearly landed in his lap.

"I'm sorry!" Bilbo exclaimed, but Balin shushed him. He was concentrating, his forehead deeply wrinkled, his eyes fixed on the array of dice before them. Dwalin watched his brother read each rune-marked face, finding patterns within the stones and between them -- and then Balin came alive in Dwalin's own stone-sense, a black granite surfaced with a pearlescence almost gold, shaped and moving like a tool in a hand. For a moment he could almost read the dice himself, and he felt like a child again, tracing out his first letters with his brother's strong fingers covering his own.

"It will be the Arkenstone," said Balin heavily, "and gold as well, and a battle. I believe we will prevail, but we must pay once in wealth and again in blood. I also believe," and here he hesitated, then pressed on, "that we _must_ prevail, against whatever evil we find within or without." He wiped his brow, suddenly salted with sweat, then reached to gather up the stones. "Mahal give us strength," he added low.

The sky had gone dark by then, the mass of the Lonely Mountain black against the background of stars. Balin started to stand up, and Dwalin jumped to offer his hand. Thorin rose as well, pulling Bilbo to his feet. They walked together towards the low, comforting roar of a fire, the good smell of roasting meat, and the familiar voices of the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speaking of other perspectives: i guess it's time to announce (in case i post in continuous writer-time rather than continuous pov) that there will be some side-stories to "layers", some of which start soon-ish, mainly to contain porn that doesn't personally involve dwalin. (there already exists one such, i guess? "Timor Mortis Confortat Me" has dwalin present, but he sleeps through it, poor dear!)
> 
> in other news there's some mash-up here between canons-tolkien/pj/piper, but that's hardly news at all now... the "quoted" bit about the arkenstone is quoted from jrrt.
> 
> in my head, the arkenstone was dwarf-made out of silima during the years of the trees. it was considered possibly a sacrilege, because mahal himself was unable to craft anything like feanor's workings, and purposely buried and its origins forgotten.


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stone-sense and some smut. PLEASE NOTE UPDATED TAGS FOR RELATIONSHIPS.

There was too much food. Lake-town had provided great baskets of fish-pies, soft cheeses, and late fruits, delicious and filling, if prone to going stale. The addition of a brace of coneys and a wild goat made more than enough for a hobbit and nine dwarves. Worse, there was an iced cake with honey inside, which on a good day Dwalin might have been able to devour entirely on his own. But after the feasting, even he was reduced to nibbling one small bite at a time, and trying to feed bites to Nori in between. Before long Nori stopped accepting them, biting sharply at Dwalin's fingertips instead, and Dwalin huffed and took the rest of his share off to inflict on Thorin.

Thorin was sitting with Bilbo, who had done as well by his meal as any of the dwarves. A bit of honey had dripped down his beardless chin, glowing in the firelight, as he lay back with his hands spread across his belly. His eyes were closed, possibly against the smoke, but Thorin's were wide regarding him. Dwalin hesitated, watching them, then sat down on Thorin's other side. He took another bite of the cake, chewing rather loudly. When Thorin looked over, he signed, _You going to lick that off his face?_

Thorin sputtered, turning red, and Dwalin handed him a chunk of cake. The king took it, eating it slowly, and they spent some time sharing the last bits together. Then Thorin signed back, _It isn't like that. When you look at him, do you see the gold?_

Dwalin turned his regard back to their burglar. He looked quite as he always did, curly-headed and curly-footed and bare of hands and face, his mouth prim even asleep and smeared with sweets. The Lake-towners had dressed him passingly well; he even had a waistcoat again, with pinstripes. Dwalin glanced at Thorin, who looked back at him with a strange intensity. Dwalin thought of gold, and there was Thorin in his stone-sense: heavy granite with a deep vein of gold, gleaming brighter perhaps than before. He tried to turn the same sense on Bilbo, but he might as well have been looking at a tree. There seemed to be nothing of Mahal's making there to perceive, particularly not in comparison with the weight and sweet shine of Thorin, or the tremendous mass to the north that was the Lonely Mountain. For a moment he thought he sensed _Smaug_ , a distant and burning gold like the moment before sunrise -- he closed his eyes and his mind. He felt Thorin's grip on his shoulder, and shook his head.

 _No, nothing,_ he signed on Thorin's familiar, calloused hand. _But the dragon. The mountain. And you._

Thorin sighed. _It's not exactly like gold,_ he admitted. _Stronger. Harder. More valuable,_ he added, _like something beautifully crafted. It fascinates me, and I wonder, is this gold-sickness? Or love, or something else? It came first when he ran to me, down the burning tree...._ He shuddered, and Dwalin shrugged, then drew him close.

 _This is love,_ Dwalin signed, twining his fingers into Thorin's hair, cupping the back of his head. _This you know,_ he added, as Thorin leaned in for a kiss.

It was quiet and unhurried, familiar as the Erebor stone beneath them. Without breaking contact, Thorin signed, _It isn't like this,_ tangling his fingers into Dwalin's beard and tugging. Dwalin stifled a sound.

Moving with deliberation, he got his arms under Thorin and rose to his feet. He carried his king back towards the piers, to shelter behind a carved mass of granite that had once been part of the seawall. He set Thorin down gently, then sat beside him. The river ran below, murmuring endlessly to itself. Dwalin kissed Thorin again, holding him by the wrists to keep Thorin's fingers out of his hair. Then he asked, "What is it like?"

Thorin sighed, settling down and pulling one arm free of Dwalin's grasp. "Greed," he said, "or its opposite. I feel like I owe him a debt, or that I'm part of a debt that he is owed. Or that he ought to belong to me instead." Dwalin shook his head, confused. "It's not for saving my life," said Thorin, "because I don't feel that way about Tharkun or the Eagles, and I've never felt that way about you or Balin. Anyone," he said, with a kind of wonder, "ever before in my life."

His words made Dwalin wary. "Do you still love me?" he asked, wondering if indeed Thorin's heart had changed, if he were beginning to be touched by the kind of madness that had brought down Thrain and Thror.

Thorin leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together. _With all my heart, and my body, and my breath,_ he signed, in the small patch of bare skin on Dwalin's throat. _How could I not? You are everything that is strong and good and true,_ he drew back a little, only to knock their heads together again, with some force, _and I have never doubted that you love me._

"Love you," Dwalin echoed aloud, and for awhile they sat still in a quiet embrace. Then, in a slow dance learned together over more than a century, they lay down on their sides in opposing parallel, each head resting on the other's solid thigh. They loosed each other's laces -- Thorin was, as always, fully hard already, and Dwalin just shy enough to fit entirely inside Thorin's mouth. He could not stop the sound he made at the sudden, enveloping heat, the perfect softness, the generous welcome as Thorin wrapped his arm over Dwalin's hips, riding and restraining his thrusts. Dwalin bit him, to make Thorin cry out too, then rewarded his voice with hard kisses along his length. He forced himself to go slowly, to draw Thorin's pleasure out piece by piece, even as Thorin took him at a reckless pace, suckling him into his throat, caressing his tightening stones through his trousers. Dwalin felt himself turning timeless and molten, borne up in a river of Thorin's gold, held hard and close and steady by his granite. He came like a diamond shattering, thrusting with all his strength, crying aloud and gasping around Thorin's cock. As he finished, Thorin rolled on top, wrapping Dwalin's cock in the warm silk of his hair, coming so far down Dwalin's slackened throat that Dwalin missed the taste until Thorin withdrew.

"Still love you," said Thorin, turning so that they were face to face, bare cocks pressing softly together, "always love you," and kissed Dwalin deeply. Dwalin was still trying to catch his breath, still seeing stars in Thorin's eyes. 

"My beloved," he finally whispered, his throat salty and scraped and blissful, "Thorin, my king...." and Thorin clutched at his shoulders, hard.

"Mahal help me be worthy," Thorin whispered back, and they lay holding one another until the bell rang for the watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some not-entirely-nice substructural headcanons going on here. Stay tuned; they will play out in later parts of this story.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nori's observation skills serve Dwalin's reasoning more than his own interests.

The camp was luxurious, with a bottle of brandy making the rounds. Bifur and Bofur had the watch, but everyone save Ori was awake, wrapped in furs and settled around the remains of the cookfire. Nori and Bilbo were sharing a pipe, bickering complacently about the poor quality of the weed. "It's a low-grade leaf, too much fiber, harsh in the lungs," said Bilbo, blowing out a ring. "I'll want honey tea after this, or my sore throat will come right back."

Honey tea sounded good for Dwalin's throat too, so he put on the kettle as Nori said "More likely it's the curing technique. It would have been fine if it hadn't been half smoked before it went into the barrel." He caught Dwalin's eye. "Hey," he said, "try this. It's absolutely horrible."

Dwalin laughed, hunting for mugs. "I'll pass," he said, and Balin handed him the brandy without asking. Dwalin poured a generous slug into each of three cups, then glanced at Thorin standing alone at the edge of the firelight, and made a fourth. He stirred in the honey and chamomile syrup, topping them up with hot water. Thorin immediately retired to his bedroll with his; he and Ori would have the second watch. A part of Dwalin wanted very much to follow him, but he turned back to join the company's stealth division instead. The smoke burned his throat even secondhand, and he sucked down a great gulp of tea, handing a mug each to Bilbo and Nori.

"Why thank you, Mister Dwalin," said the hobbit. He held the Man-sized mug in both hands, with his pinky fingers stuck out. "Mmm," he said, smacking his lips. "What a delightful nightcap!"

Dwalin grunted. Awake and contented, face scrupulously clean, the burglar seemed a most peculiar object for Thorin's attentions. "Welcome," he said, a beat too late. "Don't be sick again now."

"I promise I shan't," he said, half-mockingly, "as you were all kind enough to take me inside the boat this time, rather than clinging to the outsides of barrels after I'd thoughtfully tucked you all in." Several of the dwarves laughed. Dwalin managed a half-smile, though his mind was immediately filled with images of Kili running by the river's edge, Kili shot down, Kili grey with fever back in Lake-town. He took another long draught of his tea, willing himself not to worry over things beyond his knowledge or control. The conversation meandered on, from boats and everyone's amazement at how easily they'd crossed the Long Lake to whether or not sixty years without a confirmed sighting of Smaug actually implied that the dragon was dead. Dwalin reminded himself about the not worrying, finished his drink, and went to lie down with Thorin after all.

He woke up with Nori, hair still smelling of the pipe-weed, curled up at his back. It was not quite dawn, and birds of many kinds were singing their chorus. He turned to take Nori in his arms, and saw that the other was already awake and watching him. "Morning, love," he said. Somehow Nori had contrived to leave Lake-town dressed in soft velvet again, and Dwalin nuzzled into his chest appreciatively.

"Almost morning," Nori amended. "Bombur's just started cooking, and we'll be on the road as soon as we can. But not quite yet." He ran his fingers into Dwalin's hair, tugging gently at the tangles.

"Mmm," said Dwalin, settling himself comfortably. He was not quite relaxed enough, or tired enough, to fall asleep again. His mind wound about the previous evening's conversations, and after awhile, he asked Nori, "What do you think of Bilbo Baggins, after all this time?"

Nori gave a thoughtful hum. "I like him," he said forthrightly. "He's like what Dori might be, if life had treated us so gently. He's not that much of a thief," he added judiciously, "but he's quiet enough, and quick-thinking. With his disappearing ring, I think he's got a chance in the Mountain, even if the dragon is still alive."

"A ring?" Dwalin had either not heard that part of Bilbo's explanation of his invisibility, or forgotten it. Nori repeated the tale, with the riddle-game and the skulking creature; he had heard the latter himself, screaming and moaning at its precious loss.

"It doesn't look like much," he added, "plain gold, arched profile, hobbit-sized. He keeps it in his front right pocket, and slips it into his smallclothes when he bathes. Another useful feature of bodily modesty," he added, but Dwalin wasn't listening. _Gold._

It seemed impossible that a little piece of jewelry, even a magical bit, could unsettle a Dwarf-king's mind. Though, as he considered it, no crafted work was ever only itself; everything bore its history within it, as every dwarf embodied Mahal's touch within his person. Certainly some of Thorin's heart had fallen back into lost Erebor when Thrain's ring had appeared at the gates of Thorin's Halls. He had not removed it from his finger since. And regarding Bilbo, the timing certainly worked out with what Thorin had described of his feelings.

Dwalin halted that line of thought. Whatever magic or ornamentation the hobbit might possess, he had shown true courage and heroism, and Thorin was only right to see that. But he ought to talk to Balin about the lore of magical rings, and to Thorin about --

Nori bit him on the ear, not gently. "You're not listening," he growled, clearly displeased.

"You're right," said Dwalin apologetically. "I'm sorry. We're almost at Erebor, and I don't know what I'm doing." There was more to it, of course, but he didn't have the words to explain to Nori yet either. He gathered Nori close, kissed him until he felt the taut little body relax into the attention. Then Bombur came to their furs with the morning's coffee, and it was time to walk the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the bit about Thrain's ring is in keeping with the text of LOTR Appendix A part III, though my interpretation of events is not exactly the standard one.


	77. Chapter 77

The stones said 'home' with every step Dwalin took, but the landscape grew stranger and less familiar as they went. The busy trade-route was now a wilderness; autumn leaves whirled in the wind across the road. Their only fellow-travelers were scores of birds, their calls urgent and endless. Bilbo occasionally stooped and flung a stone at them, but they only cried louder as they dispersed, and always returned a moment later.

They made good time, and the outlines of Dale were peeping through the trees when they stopped for lunch (more fish-pies, cold roast goat, and a surprisingly good white wine). Nori climbed a tree to get a better look, joined by his brothers and Balin. When they came back, Dori's eyes were red, and the rest of them clustered around him quietly. "The bells," Dori murmured, piteously. "The bells."

"They'll ring again," said Balin soothingly, "when the Men return. If they're broken we will cast them again, and rebuild the towers to hang them high."

Dwalin's heart swelled. He had wanted to take back the Mountain for the brothers Ri for months, though he had given neither Men nor Dale a second thought. It was just like Balin to think that much further around and ahead. He looked at Thorin, who was drinking wine with his eyes fixed on the Mountain, and realized that none of them knew what would happen in the next few days. It could either be historic or fatal, or even anticlimactic. He stood up and shouldered his pack, and set off to scout west, away from the road and around the southern reaches of the Mountain and Ravenhill.

He found the land passable, if not so easy as the road, and returned before long to gather the company. The birds followed as they turned into the wilderness, not at all discouraged by Bilbo's readier access to small stones, or even Ori's occasional attempts with his sling. Dwalin strode on stolidly, using Grasper and Keeper when dry brambles crowded their way. The land was still mostly flat, and occasionally they climbed over a low stone wall, a reminder that these had been cultivated fields. Bilbo and Bombur paused here and there, to collect mushrooms or exclaim over culinary herbs. They each had a sack full when they came to a little stream, and though Ravenhill was not much further, Thorin declared they would camp there overnight.

Supper was another feast, with a darker wine enhancing the meat and mushrooms, and biscuits still fresh in their wrappings from Lake-town. The moods of the dwarves varied widely -- Thorin at his most solemn and purposeful, Ori nearly quivering with excitement. Balin made sure that Dori drank too much and fell asleep before the biscuits had run out, head cradled in Balin's lap as slow hands stroked his braids and beard. Dwalin did not entirely like that, so he spread a great many furs out around and over them, and fell asleep with his own bald head pressed firmly against his brother's hip. (If a slow hand occasionally reached down to rub his own shoulders, Dwalin might or might not have noticed, and anyway didn't object.)

Nori awakened him in the dark of night, with a kiss followed all too soon with a canteen of coffee stuffed into Dwalin's hand. "You have the watch," he whispered, "with my little brother. Don't you dare corrupt him," he added, and Dwalin chuckled.

"Still rehabilitating _you_ ," said Dwalin, "keeps me busy...." He tugged Nori in for another kiss before slugging down the coffee and stumbling to his feet. His new green boots were very comfortable, and he had forgotten to take them off. He tucked Nori into the warm space he was leaving in the furs, then went to stand guard over his sleeping companions.

It was as dull a watch as any. Ori spent it bent earnestly over his newest notebook with his newest tools from Lake-town, and Dwalin walked the perimeter time and again. The birds remained, nightjars and corncrakes making their distinctive sounds, and once he felt sure the soft wing of an owl briefly brushed his head. When Bombur began to stir, Dwalin refilled his canteen with coffee, and whispered to Ori, "Want to climb up and watch the sunrise?"

"Oh, yes sir, Mister Dwalin!" Ori exclaimed, causing Bifur to stir and Bombur to stare. He gathered paper and pens, all but bouncing on his toes, definitely much too awake. Dwalin grunted. Just as they were leaving, another small voice -- the hobbit's -- called out, "Master dwarves, might I come along too?" It was Bilbo, and Dwalin could see no reason not, so he grunted again led the way towards Ravenhill. It was certainly odd, hearing Ori's boots and his own and nothing of the hobbit's feet, but in its own way that was reassuring as well.

It might have been stone-sense, it might have been old familiarity, but each step Dwalin took was sure, and quick enough that even long-legged Ori had to trot to keep up. Mister Baggins, however road-hardened he had become, was no longer silent but panting; Dwalin was too eager to slow down, but he did hand the hobbit his canteen. Ravenhill had been the site of Erebor's southernmost guardhouse, and Dwalin had been there scores of times, in military training and in his brief employment as a Guard of Erebor. By the time Ori's breath had started to come hard as well, Dwalin had found the old stepped path -- finally, dwarf-hewn stairs, a proper breadth and height, and square as the day the stones were laid. They were both breathing easily again when they arrived at the guardhouse.

The first dim light of dawn greeted them from the eastern overlook. Ori sat on the wide sill to sketch, and Bilbo to drink coffee and catch his breath. Dwalin observed, standing at habitual half-attention, feeling his heart in his throat. Erebor's long southeastern ridge began to glow, deep copper to gold to silvery-bright. The dawn spilled around its foot, lighting up Dale, its ruins gently shrouded in a mist from the river. Then the sun climbed higher, and light poured into the valley of Erebor's Front Gate.

The Gate was shrouded as well, but by a thin black smoke that snaked low around broken statuary, and did not rise. Dwalin felt his heart breaking, and swallowed hard against it. Ori shuddered and went on drawing, while Bilbo Baggins only stood and stared.

Dwalin waited for Ori to blot his work dry and pack it away before leading them back down to camp. Breakfast was in full swing and a few hardy dwarves were braving the cold to bathe in the stream. Dwalin marched back to his pile of furs, empty now but not yet packed away, lay down and drew the heaviest over his head. His breath was starting to shake. A few moments later, Balin joined him, then Thorin. In that close darkness, surrounded by that living warmth, Dwalin silently wept.


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stone-sense, smut, and generally letting a little time pass. Story of the whole fic I suppose :)

When Dwalin was breathing quietly again he got up, and gathered Ori and Bilbo to make their report to the company. He had little enough to do; Ori's illustration was vivid, and the hobbit said plainly, "The dragon is still alive and in the halls under the Mountain, or I imagine so from the smoke." 

"That does not prove it," said Balin, "though I don't doubt you are right. But he might be gone away some time, or he might be lying out on the mountain-side keeping watch, and still I expect smokes and steams would come out of the gates. All the halls within must be filled with his foul reek."

To that cheerless comment, Thorin only added that it changed their course of action not at all. They would find the Back Door and open it with the key at the end of Durin's Day. The burglar would enter and retrieve the Arkenstone. If the dragon was missing, or any strategic options presented themselves, they would reassess -- anything from further repossession of artifacts to actual dragon-slaying would be considered. Dwalin huffed at that, but Ori began to recite the tale of Glaurung, a dragon sent by Morgoth himself and slain by a Man with a sword. Meanwhile the other brothers Ri had packed up camp, and they walked on into the wilderness listening to the story.

The landscape varied between wild and desolate -- brambles and trees between broad swaths where nothing grew at all, and the rocks underfoot were stained with oil and ash. The Lonely Mountain loomed, looking as if it had never been inhabited at all. Snow covered its higher elevations, and Bofur muttered discontentedly about the lack of ice-axes and pitons, swinging his mattock as if testing it to make do. Dwalin devoutly hoped that the Back Door would be lower than that, and that Thror would not have been so mad as to have his secret door hidden behind ice on Durin's Day. But the wind was sharp, and the company grateful for their furs, even as the sun crossed over the mountaintop and lit up the western slopes.

Thorin turned, peering back and forth between the mountain and the map he carried in his hand. "We must start our search," he said, interrupting Ori's narration. "Fi-" he broke off, face pained, but recovered at once. "Bifur and Ori. Dori and Bofur. Dwalin and Nori," he glared at them, and Dwalin returned the look impassively, "Bilbo and myself. In these pairs, we will divide and search for the Door -- is everyone familiar with the map?" Everyone nodded. "Bombur and Balin, select a campsite and build a signal-fire there. All shall rejoin there before sunset. If anyone finds the Door sooner, return at once, and light a second signal, and all return as quickly as we can."

They paired off as ordered -- one pair of older eyes with one pair younger, Dwalin noticed, and probably the best they could do in the absence of their best scouts. Bombur chose a spot beside a great boulder, surrounded by bare trees, and everyone else left their packs with Dori. Dwalin gestured to Nori, and the thief took off light-footed towards the slopes. Nori bounded up like a young goat, and it was all Dwalin could do to keep up as they ascended.

There were signs of Dwarvish history on the mountain, each as refreshing to Dwalin's soul as water in his mouth. Here were the remains of a picnic-spot at a scenic overlook, with tables and benches still standing; there was a sheltering niche with initials carved into the stone. For awhile they climbed on an actual path, only to have it end abruptly where there must once have been a garden with rain-catch barrels and irrigation troughs, though soil and plants were all long gone, save one tough vine. Nori immediately began to climb it while Dwalin watched, wondering if the slender, winding thing would hold his greater weight. But Nori hadn't gone far when he turned to look back, and cried out, "Two fires! Someone's found the door!"

He dropped back to Dwalin's side at once, landing with a startling silence. Then he took Dwalin's hand, and led him back the way they had come. At first Dwalin was simply relieved that Nori had chosen to take the path rather than descending straight across the scree. But when Nori dragged him into the little sheltered spot they had passed, he had to object: "What are you doing? Thorin said for us to return...."

Nori had not released Dwalin's hand. "There'll be nothing much done tonight," he said. "It's too close to nightfall to move camp. Don't worry, we'll be back in time for supper." He pulled a bit of chalk out of his pocket, and among the many names carved on the wall, he inscribed the three-stroke cirth of his own initial, then the distinct three strokes of Dwalin's, and beneath them the year: 2941. "So we weren't the ones to find the door. We'll be the first ones back to fuck in the mountain."

"Oh," said Dwalin, startled, as Nori took hold of his beard and tugged him down to kiss. He stroked Nori's beard in turn, recognizing his own handiwork there with a jolt of possessive pleasure and another, longer, "oh..." He sank to his knees, then his back, bringing Nori along. The stone sang into his body, welcoming him home, and Nori's mouth opened with the same sweetness. Dwalin could have stayed like that forever, perfectly content, but for Nori's hands -- one stroking the bare skin behind his beard, the other teasing his hammer through his clothes. He locked his arms around Nori's ribs, holding him hard.

"We don't have all day," said Nori, rueful and laughing, and Dwalin dragged his thoughts back to practicalities. Sunlight slanted deep into their cave; honestly they might have half an hour before dark, and Thorin might be irritated by their slowness anyway. Dwalin found he could not bring himself to care, but he pushed Nori back enough to look him in the eye.

"Fuck me, then?" he asked, his voice a growl, and Nori flushed before nodding. Dwalin rolled over, pressing Nori down onto the stone. He stood up, gesturing for Nori to stay put. "Do you feel the mountain?" he asked, and Nori stared back glassy-eyed and silent. Dwalin unbuckled his axe-harness, let his warg-skin fall. "How the stone wants to hold you, how it's glad you're back?" It felt strange to talk about the stone-sense with Nori, but he spread his fingers open upon the ground and Dwalin knew he understood.

He stripped himself bare while Nori watched, then knelt beside him, feeling Erebor intensely through every inch of skin. He would have loved to have Nori naked as well, but time was short and the air was chill even through Dwalin's own thick pelt. So he only opened Nori's clothes -- remembering Rivendell and pausing to grip Nori's crotch through his trousers, making him arch up and whine. Dwalin rubbed his palm appreciatively over the hardness, waiting quietly, until Nori half-snarled and produced a little tin seemingly from nowhere, like a conjuror's trick. Dwalin laughed and took it, letting his hand move upwards to tweak Nori's bare pap and then his nursing-token. Nori whined again, and his voice broke even as he seemed to try to snap: "Come on then, if we haven't got all day...?"

Dwalin laughed again and kissed him, then leaned down and moved one knee over Nori's body. He leaned down to kiss Nori between his wide, wild eyes, and drew back to unlace his trousers and push aside his smallclothes. He could not resist one or two long sucks there, but when he felt Nori's hands on his head he pushed them firmly back to the ground. "Feel the mountain, little one," he murmured, "just let me..." He lifted his head and opened the tin, which held a generous amount of Oin's familiar preparation. He slicked a generous amount onto Nori, and an equal measure upon himself. Then he decided to try something, and moving very carefully, pressed the tip of Nori's cock against his hole.

It felt huge, and Dwalin slid slowly upon it, trying to think relaxing thoughts as Nori trembled beneath him. He leaned forwards, then back again, smearing the slick and searching for the easiest angle. He rested his hands on the ground beside Nori's -- and felt the mountain's _welcome_ coursing through his whole body, and just then Nori's cock slid in.

The sensations were overwhelming, and Dwalin trembled as well, neither of them moving more than that for several long, noisy breaths. Then Nori curled his long fingers around Dwalin's wrists, and Dwalin sank slowly down upon him, tremendously full and slippery, electric. He would have sworn the stone felt them too, warming beneath his palms, somehow asking him to move on its behalf -- and he obeyed, gasping and sweating in the cold air. He rode Nori slowly at first, then mindlessly faster until he was rushing like a rockslide. Nori bucked and Dwalin roared, watching as he came untouched. His spending splashed bright across Nori's belly, and Nori clung to his wrists and thrust harder, coming deep inside as Dwalin collapsed upon him.

Their harsh breath echoed in the small space, and Dwalin slowly grew aware of the growing darkness. He kissed Nori again as he pulled slowly apart, feeling exquisitely sensitive, his skin still hot in the cold air. He wiped his spending from Nori as best he could, and cleaned himself a bit with his fingers; then on a whim reached for Nori's chalk lettering and traced his own cirth beneath it: _men lananubukhs_.

Nori chuckled, his throat sounding dry, and handed Dwalin a handkerchief. He had already refastened his trousers and was reordering his shirts as Dwalin fumbled on the floor for his socks. "Love you too," he whispered, almost too softly to be heard, and added with wonder, "and the Mountain, after all."

Dwalin pulled him close, and Nori melted into the embrace. They held each other for a long moment, then Nori picked up the warg-skin and pulled it around his own shoulders. He kept it there while Dwalin finished dressing, and they descended towards the twin fires side by side as twilight faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Balin's dialogue lifted from JRRT.
> 
> Ori's tale is of course from "Narn i Hin Hurin" which I imagine he read in Rivendell.
> 
> "men lananubukhs is Khuzdul for "I love".


	79. Chapter 79

Far from being put out, Thorin was expansively happy as he sat between the two campfires. There was an open bottle of wine beside him, and he offered it to Dwalin as he and Nori approached. Bilbo sat beside the king, cheeks already flushed with drink and a pleased smile on his face. "We found it!" he said, lifting his own bottle. There was a general rumble of approval and clinking glass. Dwalin roared (though it was hardly news, given the fires) and Nori whistled, and Dwalin tipped the bottleneck to Nori's mouth.

"You found it, you mean," said Thorin to the hobbit, who turned even redder and smiled even wider. "We climbed over rocks in the valley's southern quarter, and found a great carved pillar standing alone. Behind that were steps and then a path, much damaged-- difficult even for a dwarf, and narrow even for a hobbit. But," Thorin paused to smile upon their burglar, "we talked one another into it, by turns! The path turned north until we were back just above the campsite, and then there's a split in the stone. There's a steep-walled bay hidden there, still and quiet, with grass growing. You can't see it from below, because the rock drops off below the path, and from further off it looks like no more than a crack. But it's open up to the sky, and at the inner end the wall is flat to the ground, smooth and upright as a mason's work, with no joint or crevice. No sign of post, lintel, or threshold, nor any bar or bolt or key-hole." He smiled again, more darkly, and Bilbo handed his bottle up. Thorin drank deeply, then concluded, "Clearly a Dwarvish secret door, and nothing else like it in this world."

"I wouldn't have known it for anything," Bilbo protested, and Thorin reached over to ruffle the hobbit's hair. Dwalin took a long slug of wine himself, watching them. Bofur bustled over, playing serving-lad. Bombur had deconstructed the fish-pies, crisped the fish on little twigs and refilled the crusts with goat-meat, apples, and onions. There was even a pudding made with roast apricots and brandy.

Dwalin ate heartily, still sharing his wine with Nori, but keeping a close eye on Thorin. Whatever feelings of greed or debt had worried Thorin before seemed satisfied, and he looked upon the hobbit with a warmth Dwalin had rarely seen bestowed even upon his sister-sons or Dwalin himself. Unsettled, Dwalin announced that he would stand first watch, and to his surprise Thorin laughed and said, "Nay, not so early! Tomorrow is our homecoming, as we re-enter Erebor. Tonight we celebrate the end of our long journey." He came to his feet steadily enough, went to their baggage and unpacked a lap-harp. He nodded to Dwalin, adding, "There's a viol as well, if you please, master-at-arms."

A viol! Dwalin stripped off his knuckledusters and scrambled for the baggage, and practiced a few arpeggios while Thorin was still tuning. His callouses were all wrong now, but he did not care if his fingers bled. The music was another kind of home, and when Thorin struck up "The Coal-Miner's Birds" Dwalin played his part without a thought beyond delight, his gaze locked to Thorin's as their fingers moved in time. It was a simple enough piece, but Nori hauled Bilbo up to dance to it, and soon everyone was dancing and clapping along in the sparkling firelight. Dori's hair gleamed bright as the moon, and Bombur's beard spun circles within circles as he stepped and twirled. When the tune was finished, Balin took over the viol (there was only one) and Ori discovered that Thorin had also packed a flute, and Bombur improvised a drum out of their largest cookpot. Dwalin drank more, and danced with everyone, spinning Bilbo up off his feet as if the hobbit were a child.

"Put me down!" the hobbit squealed, and no sooner had Dwalin done than Bifur tackled him from behind. It was all Dwalin could do not to fall flat on top of Bilbo, and as he rolled over to wrestle with Bifur, Bofur joined in. Ori approached, but Bilbo cut him down from the knees. Bifur changed targets to tickle Ori, and as the young scribe shrieked with laughter, Balin waded in to protect his charge. He and Bifur wrestled for a glorious minute, distracting Dwalin entirely. Then Nori landed on top of him, and two seconds later Dwalin had him pinned and kissed him soundly.

He could not have said what made him look up, but when he did, he saw Bilbo standing at Thorin's side. They were of a height as Thorin knelt with his harp, laughing together at the melee. It was a beautiful sight, their faces warm in the firelight's glow, but something stopped the breath in the back of Dwalin's throat -- perhaps the dark bulk of the Lonely Mountain behind them, cold moonlight on its icy peak. He stood up himself, carrying Nori without noticing. "Let's spread the furs and lie down," he said, mostly if not entirely to Thorin. "Tomorrow will be the day to remember."

Thorin's laughter slowed as Dwalin spoke, but he nodded and packed the harp away. Nori got out the furs -- far more of them than Dwalin would have -- and made a great nest of them, then dragged Bilbo into the center with a laugh. "Boots off, now," he ordered Dwalin, and when he had been obeyed, pulled him down as well.

Thorin removed both his boots and his coat, and lay on Bilbo's far side, drawing the heaviest fur -- possibly a bear's -- over them all. But he reached over their smaller companions to rest a ringed hand on Dwalin's neck, and beneath that touch, Dwalin was lulled into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's description of the Door paraphrased from JRRT's text.
> 
> (This part of the story is kinda hard for me to write. It might be giving away too much to note that my theme song for Bilbo is Dire Straits "Love Over Gold" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyEEOxDTCRM ....)
> 
> (and here's the song Dwalin and Thorin play together: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsWHiemDDB0&index=6&list=PL1454139BF1D83F6C -- the dwarvish name is a little different :)


	80. Chapter 80

Late in the morning, they moved camp. It was a tricky business, the path being narrow and treacherous. Bifur and Bofur went first, setting pitons, and dropped ropes from the crevice to the ground to haul things up. It was exhausting work, even with jury-rigged pulleys. Several of the dwarves (Dori and Bombur especially) questioned whether it was even wise for everyone and everything to be present when the Back Door was opened. But Thorin was adamant that the remainder of the Company should stick together, and in the end even Bombur clenched his jaw and climbed straight up, with Dwalin and Dori belaying. Once they were reunited, Thorin changed his mind several times over as to whether they should leave the ropes in place. They would serve as a signal to Kili and his companions; conversely they might similarly alert anyone else as well. Nori and Ori devised a solution: they tied a rope with the knots for F, K, O, and G, and dropped it onto the rough rocks beneath the cliff. "They're our scouts," said Ori to Thorin, gently, "they'll be able to find us for sure."

Meanwhile everyone else was tackling the door, pointless though they knew it to be. Bofur tried his mattock, and the steel head bent as if it were soft as lead. Dori pounded with all his tremendous strength, as did Dwalin, until he noticed their brothers laughing behind their hands. Dwalin bowed out then. He was not assaulting the wall in any competitive or frustrated spirit, and neither was Dori, though the porter did cease his efforts shortly thereafter. Nori, still laughing, came to the flat rock and started tapping here and there with (of all things) a teaspoon, his cheek pressed against the stone and his other hand as well. Dwalin, watching, felt Nori's familiar copper as if it were molding itself to that bare flat wall, ringing in harmony to the vibrating steel of the spoon. He closed his eyes to savor it, and still knew when Nori came to stand beside him. He reached out and took Nori's hand, rubbing his thumb across the spoon.

"What are you doing?" Nori snapped, and Dwalin opened his eyes.

Nori's jaw was tight, but his eyes were wide in a way Dwalin had come to know and love. He wanted to pull Nori closer, but opened his fingers instead, so that he was only touching the bowl of the spoon. "I hardly know," he admitted. He spoke softly, wanting to sound apologetic, but he felt his voice coming out deep from his heart. "Stone-sense, or something like. Balin says it runs in our family."

Nori scoffed. "Stone-sense my arse," he said, but rather than moving away he pressed that arse down upon Dwalin's knee, and Dwalin drew him close. "Feels like molten rock, all hot and heavy, pouring inside me," he whispered, and Dwalin gripped him hard.

"Did you ever feel that in Mirkwood?" he asked. "Because I tried, I thought I felt you there..."

Nori shook his head. "Maybe because I wasn't using my own then," he said. "Not that I can feel a thing through that door. It's so intent on keeping its secrets, it makes a dwarf very keen to find out what they are."

"You'd make a good guard." Nori glared, then turned and reclined against Dwalin's chest, making himself comfortable. Dwalin sighed. It was mid-afternoon on Durin's Day, but neither Thorin nor Balin had so much as begun a word of prayer. They sat together at the open crevice, staring west as if their concentrated efforts would make the sun set. Dwalin leaned forward and murmured in Nori's ear, "Can you cook?"

"What? Are you trying to recruit me?" Nori looked back, eyes narrowing.

"Yes," said Dwalin, coming to his feet and placing Nori on his. "Help me make something good. It's Durin's Day and that should mean -- " Nori was already piling up some of the firewood they'd brought, and rummaging through the baggage for vinegar and honey before Dwalin finished, "-- sweets."

They built a little cookfire in the lee of a great stone that stood in the center of the grassy patch, where slow snails crawled in the sunlight. Nori held off everyone gathering with Lake-town scones (still reasonably fresh in their wrappings) while they waited for the preparation to boil, and Bilbo and Bofur ascended a goat-path to bring back a bucket of snow to chill the candy when it was poured. They got back just in time, and the mixture hissed and crackled, and Dwalin (as every year) burned his fingers trying to get a taste too soon. Eventually it set, and Nori broke it up and handed it around. Thorin sang the blessing after all, and everyone ritually clasped hands all round, even the hobbit. Bombur woke up in time to participate, then commandeered the fire to start supper.

Thorin and Balin returned to their watch. As soon as the sun hit the treetops over Mirkwood, they rose as one, and dwarves fell away from the wall to give the king his space. A red finger of light traced slowly down the wall, and a bird called out from the top of the grey rock. Thorin followed the glow, first with his eyes, then his hands, then directly with the key. Nothing changed. The stone's secrets held.

All was silent, save for the whistling bird. Darkness fell, and Thorin let the key fall too. Balin murmured something comforting as Thorin turned away. The king stalked blindly across the grass and out to the ledge. Dwalin wondered for a mad moment if he meant to throw himself off the cliff, and ran after.

The sky was deep and splendid, Durin's Crown sparkling overhead, black clouds scattered across the firmament. One cloud went suddenly silver at its edge, and the delicate crescent of the moon sailed through.

The hobbit's high voice called, "Thorin! Thorin -- the key, the key!" and the bird's shriek echoed his cry. Thorin turned with tears on his face, then he spun and raced back with Dwalin close behind. The hobbit had his hand on the wall, where a little chip had been flaked away, and the bird -- a great black thing with a speckled breast and piercing eyes -- whirled in the air about his head. Thorin pushed in the key and turned it, and Dwalin and Balin set their shoulders beside his. A moment later everyone was pushing together, and long straight cracks appeared silently in the wall. They outlined a door five feet tall and three feet wide, and slowly it swung inwards. It seemed as if darkness flowed like a vapor from the hole in the mountainside. Nothing could be seen. Bilbo took one hesitant step through, in and down.

"Well," said Bilbo, his voice even higher and a little shaky. "So. Who is coming with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bugged me that there was no overt observance of Durin's Day in any canon, despite it sounding very like the name of a holiday.
> 
> Several sentences here paraphrased from JRRT's text, though events here also draw from the movies, and from the clear blue sky :)


	81. Chapter 81

"I'll go," said Balin to Bilbo, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. He smoothed his hands down his beard and went to the Door. Dori drew in a hard breath, and Balin nodded vaguely over his shoulder without missing a step. Bilbo stared, swallowed, and turned, and the two of them disappeared into the darkness.

Dwalin was behind his brother with an axe in hand without a second thought. Nori grabbed his elbow, and Dwalin paused mid-step. But Nori only said, "Let them get ahead, a hundred feet at least, or you'll be a distraction rather than a tail. And take off those boots. You sound like a goat running over rocks; you could wake the dragon even if it's dead."

Dori's sound of protest became an agonized whine, and Ori moved towards him, murmuring. Nori ignored them and peered through the Door, while Dwalin yanked off his green boots. The air was cold without them, and every blade of grass pricked, but he'd be a fool to ignore the advice. When he approached, Nori took his elbow again, and they crossed the threshold together.

Dwalin might have expected the stone to be even colder than the grass, but it wasn't. It felt better on his feet than the fleece-lined boots, welcoming his every step, the way his toes spread beneath his weight. It was an utterly, almost discordantly delightful feeling, and his hand went of its own to trace the smooth stone of the walls. Nori tugged at his elbow, with an impatient expression -- it didn't even seem dark inside to Dwalin, though it must have been, the passage unlit and only night outside. He walked on, following Balin -- that gleaming pearlescence, the deliberate tool-motion -- with ease through the clean, straight passage. They kept a little distance, and Nori took out a knife.

Eventually Balin stopped and said, "Bilbo, I think if you go to the end of this hallway and turn left, there will be a stairway down. Beneath the last landing you will see our old Great Hall, which is the only space in the Mountain I can imagine containing a dragon and his hoard. Good luck, my friend, and Mahal keep you safe!"

Dwalin might have paused there, but Nori stole on and Dwalin went with him. The thief's steps were still silent, though still booted. Dwalin murmured "Balin..." as they came near, and Balin started, though fortunately he did not scream. Dwalin ran to him and they knocked their heads together.

"What are you doing?" Balin whispered, and Dwalin shrugged.

"Spying, of course," said Nori. He nodded at the brothers, then walked on. Dwalin shrugged helplessly again, and followed.

As Balin had said, there was a staircase, a tremendous stately affair with geometric carvings and rigorously even steps. Some decorative gemwork and inlay had been ripped from it, leaving deep scars that in no way impaired its stability. Far below them, there was a reddish glow, a furnace heat, and a sulfurous wisp in the still air. All was silent. On the landing below was Bilbo Baggins, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

They waited. Eventually Bilbo muttered something, tightened his belt and loosed his little sword, and went on.

Nori and Dwalin followed, one turn of the staircase behind. They began to hear a deep roar like engines, so low Dwalin felt it more as a throb through his feet than in his ears. Then they reached the next landing, and beneath them lay the dragon and the treasure.

Smaug shone red and gold, his jaws and nostrils thrumming and smoking, limbs and wings and infinite tail all coiled around him. He was half-buried under plunder of precious things, jewels and metals wrought and raw, coins and cups and cradles and suits of ceremonial armor. Dwalin could just make out the hobbit's expression, dazed and desiring, and saw it echoed beside him in Nori's face as well. The thief's jaw was slack, and his eyes hooded, and his fingers grasped and curled. He leaned forward, and Dwalin put a heavy hand down on his shoulder. Nori looked up, naked lust and guilt across his face, and past him Dwalin saw Bilbo take his first sliding steps across the gold.

Smaug stirred a wing and opened a claw, and his rumble rose a note. Bilbo seized a great trophy-cup and his face contorted; then his hand went to his pocket and at once he disappeared from sight. But the hoard moved a little here and there beneath his weight, and a decorated knife vanished as well. Then a huge and baleful red emerald, a scoop of silver coins, a little handful of hairclasps, a necklace like a chain of stars and frost.

Dwalin pulled Nori back, which took a surprising amount of force. One the thief had turned, though, he dashed back up the stairs, and Dwalin had to stow his axe to keep up. "All's well!" Nori shouted as he ran past Balin, who stared, and Dwalin followed him grimly back out into the night.

Dori fell on Nori like an eagle on a mouse, and Dwalin let him. He was breathing hard, and already missing the feeling of worked stone. He sat down to put on his boots, and Thorin came and knelt beside him. The king's arm was warm upon his shoulder, but he only whispered, "What news?"

"Smaug sleeps, and the burglar carried away more riches than you or I have seen since last we laid eyes on that dragon," said Dwalin. He was crying again, uncaring, one boot on and one off. He felt very cold. "Balin's waiting for him. Ah, here they are --" Thorin's breath hissed in, and he stood and went to meet them. Soon everyone was clustered together, reverently passing the treasures from hand to hand, murmuring in awe and surprised relief.

"But not the Arkenstone." Thorin's voice cut clear across the grassy bay. Dwalin crawled away, forgetting his boot, to the far side of the grey standing rock. He did not care what anyone was saying, and very little for dragons or wealth or ancient wonders of the world. He felt lost and bereft, exactly as he had when Smaug had driven him out of his home the first time. He looked up at the cold bright stars and tried to think of nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More following book-canon, although a lot of stuff of which Bilbo is unaware, thus borne from my own head :)


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stone-sense; smut. you were expecting otherwise? XD
> 
> also, dwalin has some new realizations about events that came long before.

Dwalin did not notice when Nori crept up beside him, or even when he took the boot from Dwalin's hands. When a hot cup of tea was pushed into his grasp, his fingers tightened reflexively. But when Nori climbed into his lap he startled, dumping the smaller dwarf to the ground and spilling the tea.

Dwalin blinked, his mind still aching and empty, the stars like faceted diamonds through his wet eyes. He lifted a hand towards Nori, who scuttled away. "You're cold," said Nori evenly, "I'll bring some furs." He snatched back the teacup and left.

Dwalin wiped his eyes with the side of his hand -- the knuckleduster's edge scraping over his nose -- and blinked hard. A thin wind blew in through the crevice at the end of the bay, and he could see all the way out to the treetops of Mirkwood and the brilliant sky above it. The grey standing stone was at his back, and behind it were the sounds of fire and low conversation. He had no feeling for how much time might have passed, but from the smell of it, he'd missed supper.

Nori returned beneath a bearskin much larger than himself, looking like a child dressed up for a play. He tossed it over Dwalin from a good distance, and Dwalin caught it and spread it over and around himself. It was warm and generously comforting, and he stuck an arm out to wave Nori over. "Thanks," he said. "You could join me. It's safe, I promise I'm awake."

"You weren't sleeping before," Nori observed. "When you're asleep, you snore." But he came anyway, this time carrying a canteen rather than a teacup. The drink inside was mostly chamomile with a bite of valerian, thick with honey. Dwalin did not feel hungry or thirsty, but he nearly drained it in one go. A braided eyebrow rose and dropped. "Do you want more?"

"...No." He didn't want anything, or didn't think he did. Then Nori slipped under the bearskin beside him. The small, spare shape was comforting, velvet soft where Nori pushed his leg between Dwalin's lap and hand. But something was off. There was a thin, yellowish shine over Nori's copper, the faintest blunting of his electric buzz under Dwalin's fingers. It crossed Dwalin's mind that it might be beautiful, something to value and to hoard, but "No," he said again, voice harsh. He pulled Nori closer, awkwardly atop himself, fumbling with the catches on the Man-tailored clothes; he felt Nori go lithe and pliant with great relief.

"Hush, my beauty, it's all right," Nori whispered, making quick work to bare his skin himself, to work eloquent hands into Dwalin's beard and behind his back. But it was not all right; the pale bright sheen remained between them, like a glare in Dwalin's eyes. He pushed his mouth hard against Nori's, tongue reaching back behind sharp teeth, tasting him, breathing his breath. His own mouth vibrated with Nori's moan, and he hummed back in approval. He wanted Nori with him, his own familiar love, undistracted and inseparable. He wrapped the smaller Dwarf in his arms and stood up -- back aching where he'd leaned upon his axes -- and turned to brace Nori against the standing stone.

That was comfortable, Nori's legs wrapped across his hips now, upper body resting at Dwalin's height against the good stone of the Mountain. Dwalin set his legs apart for balance, then leaned in to press Nori into the rock. He would have taken Nori's wrists above his head, but Nori shook his head and murmured, "Please?" before Dwalin had set his grasp, so he only grunted and ground in, his cock trapped at an angle in his clothes. Meanwhile Nori had loosed Dwalin's axes, their harness, and the warg-skin and layers of shirts beneath; moments later they all clattered and slid to the ground. Dwalin stood bare from the waist up, the wind tossing his hair around his shoulders. Nori's fingers combed through his beard, traced his scars, tugged at his paps. It felt good -- very good -- but that was not enough.

Dwalin set his hands beneath Nori's thighs, lifting him and pushing back as he dropped to his own knees. He shoved his head between Nori's legs, letting them tighten around his neck, thighs now resting on his shoulders and heels trembling upon his back. Nori's cock arched up sleek and hard, and Dwalin took it all in at once, sucking hard with no subtlety as Nori cried out. There was no pallid gleam left now, nothing but Nori's pure and familiar copper, malleable as Dwalin loved. He slowed his mouth, murmuring now, drawing Nori's pleasure out like fine wire, curling it into shapes with his tongue and his hands tracing Nori's forge and anvil. The knuckledusters bit into Nori's skin and he bucked and wailed, his own nails biting back through Dwalin's beard as he came. Dwalin let his mouth grow softer, satisfied, and when Nori twitched out in hypersensitivity, he laughed.

"That's what you need, isn't it, little one?" he asked, slowly letting Nori slide down the rock, kneeling himself as he helped Nori to sit on the grass. He pulled the bearskin around the small dwarf, who pushed it aside, sweating and panting and wide-eyed. "You and me and Mahal's good stone. Not," he could hardly say the word, but he needed to, spitting it out like poison, " _gold_."

Nori looked up, eyes burning. "You saw it all too," he said, still breathless, "unmade and crafted, all of it shining, and the beast that keeps it from us. Don't you want it?" His voice was pleading. "Isn't it ours by right?"

"It is ours," said Dwalin, angry even as he agreed, "and Smaug can keep it all forever, if," his voice broke, "...if but I could keep you."

He sagged forwards until his head rested on the stone. He remembered that golden gleam, though he could never have said so before -- remembered it in Thror's eyes as he begged the Elvenking to save their treasure, and in Thrain's steps as, in secret, they had once marched as far as Mirkwood before he was lost. He had been blind then, seeing only kings, only obeying orders. He had lost two kings to gold, and he hated it for them.

One of Nori's hands wrapped gently around Dwalin's neck, even as the other opened his belt, then both tugged him down upon the fur. Deft fingers stroked him, touching his cheekbones, his lips, the hollow at his throat. "I'll stay," Nori whispered, "I'm here now. You brought me all this way," there was wonder in his voice now, almost laughter as he stroked Dwalin's lax hammer, "and I love you more than anything I could steal."

Dwalin sighed heavily, turning on his side, letting his beard brush the top of Nori's braids. Nori stripped him bare, trousers and smalls and the one leather boot, then leaning in so the whole length of his body was a caress. He unbuckled the knuckledusters and raised each hand to his mouth, suckling slowly at Dwalin's fingers one by one. The rest of the campsite was quiet. The other dwarves might have gone to sleep, or huddled in the shelter of the Door. Dwalin's world shrank to his own skin and blood, and Nori's touch and breath upon him, and at the same time it expanded through the stones of Erebor -- the Lonely Mountain so vast and varied that even the hoard of treasures was insignificant to its geological age and scale, and the great malicious dragon no more than any other animal asleep in its burrow. When Nori turned him on his back he went bonelessly, and when Nori stirred his cock with hands and mouth and hair he could only gasp his pleasure. A long time later, when he was mindless and slicked with Nori's ministrations, Nori mounted him. They moved together and melted together, and there was nothing at all between them when Nori shuddered and sang out again. Dwalin clung to him after, and Nori pulled the bearskin over their heads. Only the faint and simple silver of dawn lit the sky when they awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In JRRT's text, Bilbo Baggins is the first we see struck by something like the fandom call "gold-sickness":
> 
> _To say that Bilbo's breath was taken away is no description at all. There are no words left to express his staggerment, since Men changed the language that they learned of elves in the days when all the world was wonderful. Bilbo had heard tell and sing of dragon-hoards before, but the splendour, the lust, the glory of such treasure had never yet come home to him. His heart was filled and pierced with enchantment and with the desire of dwarves; and he gazed motionless, almost forgetting the frightful guardian, at the gold beyond price and count._
> 
> Indeed the term "dragon-sickness" -- meaning the drive for riches and loss of other priorities -- is only used once in the text, to refer to the sad fate of the old Master of Lake-town.
> 
> My point is that I don't see "dragon-sickness" or "gold-lust" or whatever as very particular to any given people, despite Tolkien's calling it "the desire of dwarves"; it's just not supported by the actual text. Different dwarves were also differently affected, and I've made a bit more out of all that here. Hope it remains coherent!


	83. Chapter 83

Before the sun passed Erebor's bulk, the mountain shook and roared. There was no mistaking this for a rockslide or an earthquake. The dragon was awake, and he was angry.

Dwalin was on his feet at once, and Nori was as well, already moving away from the standing stone as it trembled like a leaf a storm. The air was full of birds again, shrieking and calling. On the inner wall, Bombur and Bifur were closing the door, though Thorin blocked it from shutting entirely with Dwalin's boot and pressed the secret key back in its keyhole. A sulfurous smoke wisped through the remaining crack, and Bombur choked. Bifur cursed Thorin in Khuzdul and Thorin cursed him back. Bofur hissed "Shut up!" and, shockingly, everyone did.

The silver coins clinked musically, and a log in the fire crackled apart. The birds spiraled high in the air, too high to be heard now, and Dwalin saw Smaug's shape soaring among them in vivid memory. He cringed back against the wall, and where his bare skin touched smooth stone, he felt the same _welcome_ that he had in the hall. It was tinged now with desperation, whether his own or the stone's he could not tell. The dragon moved again. An avalanche of snow creaked and rumbled on an upper slope to the north, and the morning wind blew snow through the clear blue sky overhead. But the worked wall held steady, and Dwalin all but clung to it.

Nori came to him with the bearskin and his clothes, and Dwalin gathered him close. He leaned back against the wall, trying to be as solid for Nori as the stone was for himself. Soon all of the Company were huddled together there, Thorin and Balin at Dwalin's sides. Eventually he was able to whisper, "The mountain..." and Thorin nodded, and Balin gripped his hand.

It went on for hours while the mountain crashed and groaned. No one spoke; they scarcely moved. Some time past noon, when the sun shone bright into their little hollow, it slowed, then stopped.

Bombur was the first to move. He pushed himself away from the wall, his ivory complexion pale as a high cloud, and walked over to restart their fire. Thorin reached out as if to hold him back, but Bombur shrugged. "We'll have to move eventually," he said. "We have to eat. Can't pass the winter cringing and starving like mice with a cat in the house," and Bofur managed to laugh.

He was right and Dwalin knew it, but it was desperately difficult to pry even an inch of his skin away from the stone. Nori helped, standing just out of reach with his hand extended. When Dwalin lurched forward and took it he nearly crumpled on top of the smaller dwarf, but Nori bore up under him as if well-practiced. "Good job," he whispered. "Now put your clothes on."

Dwalin did as he was told. The day felt chilly, though it probably wasn't, and the grass continued to poke at his bare feet. Bifur brought him honeyed tea, pickled fish, and dry bread, and Dwalin ate without tasting. Then Bifur sat down close beside him, taking his hand. Balin huffed and gestured everyone to sit in a loose circle, then said without preamble, "We need to plan." Nobody argued, and he went on. "There'd be no shame in taking what riches our burglar gathered," he gestured at the loose pile, "and returning with greater strength in the spring. The silver alone would buy us all a year of luxury in Lake-town, and that red emerald," his voice went deep, and he swallowed before continuing, "might make a persuasive gift to King Dain."

"How would that help?" Bilbo piped up. "Erebor's armies couldn't slay Smaug before, and having seen...." He broke off, then looked Balin in the eye and went on, "I don't think an army could kill him now. Certainly not if he's awake and breathing fire."

"No red emerald is the Arkenstone," added Thorin, voice careful and precise. "It's a gem worthy of its own legends, which you'd be more likely to know than I would, cousin. But no oaths were sworn beneath it, and it never crowned a throne. I don't know how to fight a dragon, but still I would serve and lead my people, as I swore when I was young."

Bifur signed urgently on Dwalin's hand, and Dwalin translated for those whose Iglishmek or attention might have been elsewhere. "Bifur reminds us that in Ori's tale, the dragon Glaurung was killed with a stab to the belly by a Man's sword. Which means smaller than his own boar-spear, and no better-made than what must lie in Erebor's armories."

"And no good came of it for him," muttered Ori from Bifur's other side. Bifur favored Ori with a long, level gaze, and the lad subsided.

"I think I should go down now," said Bilbo suddenly. "I'm the burglar; I've proven that. Smaug's as quiet as he was last night, and no quieter than he might be next year." He looked around the little group, squared up as he faced Thorin.

Thorin's chin lifted and his eyes softened as he met the hobbit's gaze. "All who are willing shall go," he said, not looking at Dwalin or Nori in particular. "Let those of us with memories and those of us with stone-sense share our knowings and plan. We need not be defenseless, even," he nodded at Bilbo, "in stealth."

Bilbo's eyes softened right back, and if Dwalin thought the burglar was going to protest being trailed by seven clomping, dwarf-smelling dwarves, he was mistaken. "Plan away then," said Bilbo airily, "I'm ready when you are." And though Balin coughed, the King had spoken. He beckoned to Balin and Dwalin, and to the family Ur. For the next hour they variously spoke to each other, communed in each their own ways with the stone, and drew up tactical plans (Dwalin had not known that Bombur's regular profession was architecture, but it certainly came in handy). Then they beckoned over Nori, who was even better at maps than Bombur, and who after all had just been inside the Mountain himself. Dori pulled Ori aside, clearly disapproving, and the two of them tidied every inch of the campsite.

 _Ori could perhaps take out a dragon's eye with a shot,_ Bifur signed, _or if we could rig a small explosive, perhaps even the brain behind._

Thorin hesitated, looking over at the brothers Ri. Nori watched him with eyebrows lifted, face otherwise schooled blank. "Your idea has merit," said Thorin slowly, then continued, "and I can carry a bow and arrows. That will deliver a weightier strike. Ori and Dori shall remain outside, to carry his journals and our belongings back to Lake-town, in the event that we do not return. The crown will pass to Fili, and perhaps the treasure will stir Dain from his halls." He came to his feet, rolled his shoulders back, and beckoned to the Company to give his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pick my way between canons with caution, since the dragon is awake and already plenty disturbed.


	84. Chapter 84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit that in this section (and more to come) I have grown weary of all canon. Here, have some stuff I mainly made up, excepting for some of the quoted dialogue.

Seven dwarves was an auspicious number, Dwalin told himself as they pushed the Door open again. It moved soundlessly, and the stink of sulfur waited within. He watched Thorin take back the key, but did not retrieve his boots. Despite the dragon in the air, the stone of Erebor welcomed Dwalin's footstep again, though he strove to maintain a military precision with his stride. He saw Thorin's face glow with wonder as he spoke, "I know these walls..."

"I remember," said Balin, and Dwalin knew there were tears in his brother's eyes. He held back long enough to take Balin's gloved hand in his own, holding it until Balin squeezed back and let go. They reached the long staircase, lit with a dim dragon gleam from below, and Bilbo slipped on his ring and disappeared from sight. Thorin and Bombur departed through a narrow door, in a direction in which Balin believed there might once have been workshops capable of providing materials for some small explosives. Balin himself led Bofur in the direction of the old gas mains to see what remained of the fire-mines, and if Dwalin had always thought Bofur rather jaunty, here he was nearly dancing ahead with his hands upon his hat. Nori trailed after Bilbo as if the ring hid nothing at all, and Bifur and Dwalin followed with spear and axe. They descended slowly, until the air was thick as smoke and the gold glowed as if on fire. The armsmen stopped one turn up the stairway, peering between carved and smashed balusters; Nori went to the bottom of the steps and slipped into a gap in a shattered statue, and Bilbo ranged out across the hoard. The gold chimed against itself at the soft disturbance.

For a moment the scents and sights combined into something almost sweet, edgily attractive -- then Dwalin's spirit rebelled, and the scene turned lurid and nauseating. Bifur remained beside him, shattered black surface and hard-faceted green, exactly as he had always been and a perfect comfort. Dwalin reached further for Nori, relieved to find only copper-red and verdegris. The treasure itself became a meaningless mass, silver dull as sand, gold like grass, gemstones like glass. The sulfur stench was choking.

He did sense Bilbo now, or perhaps the ring he wore. He understood, suddenly, why it felt to Thorin like a debt: it had a weight and shine like gold, but there was something about it that spoke only of power unfulfilled, like paper money printed by Men -- it lacked gold's inherent value, to be remade more beautifully or usefully, in the hand of a child of Mahal. That said, it also did not account for the hobbit's stealth and bravery, as he made his invisible way across the sliding mounds of valuable things. Here and there he paused, picking up a white gem and putting it back down. Once a carved-jade spoon lifted into the air and disappeared. Then the whole hoard shuddered and clashed as Smaug raised his head and opened his burning eyes.

"Thief," Smaug murmured, in a voice as hot and rough as molten rock. "Come along, take what you like...." Dwalin felt Nori go absolutely still, but Bilbo's clear high voice replied. 

"No, no, Smaug the tremendous!" he cried, and if his voice trembled with fear, some starch of fine manners kept his enunciation clear. "I did not come for presents, only to see...."

Dwalin stopped listening. As with so many other parleys, he knew there was no point to it, and had no idea why the participants kept up the conversation. Smaug laughed, and its cruelty froze Dwalin's heart inside his chest. Perhaps, he thought, that was the point -- to terrify your enemy with speech, to weaken them before bloodshed. He suspected Balin had told him as much at some point, and he had forgotten. It had never much worked on him before.

The world around them spun as the dragon raised his wings and took a step. An avalanche of coins and jewels fell from high above, and Dwalin felt Nori flinch and Bifur standing steadily at ease. The banister beside them broke. Before Dwalin could retreat to a better hiding-spot, he saw a light twinkling far below. It was silver and golden together, with every other color somehow sparkling within. He had seen it before, at ceremonies of state in his own childhood, as when he was himself sworn and declared eleventh in line for the throne beneath. His heart turned over into fire and longing -- he had an oath to fulfill, a need to protect -- and then he saw it lift from the ground as weightless as a sunrise, and disappear like a carved-jade spoon.

Meanwhile the hobbit's high voice chattered on, something about a waistcoat of diamonds. Then, abruptly, the clatter of noise rose in volume and also in perspective -- riches fell everywhere as the dragon reared back and spread his wings. "Dazzlingly marvellous! Perfect! Flawless! Staggering!" Bilbo declared, though Dwalin was certain the burglar saw as the warrior did for himself: a large patch of Smaug's breast was bare of either scale or gem, looking soft as a slug despite the flame that lit it from within. There was a long pause as the roar rattled down to a sound like pennies falling in a dish, and then Bilbo said with all of his usual propriety, "I must really not delay your magnificence's rest any longer," he said, and his voice went steadily softer as if on purpose. "And it is the least of the art of burglary to be difficult to capture."

In the roar of flame that followed, Dwalin was sure he heard Nori laugh. The dragon's long neck wound through the treasures like a snake in sand, searching for Bilbo, as their spy pelted up the steps past him. "Left breast," Nori whispered, as he dashed off to look for Thorin and the explosives, and then (Dwalin devoutly hoped) Ori and the telling of the tale. Dwalin could not say if the next words came from Nori, or himself, or nowhere at all: _like he's nursed a dwarfling of his own_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, treasures of this size emit a sort of radiation, and dragons can live on it.
> 
> Also (I believe I've mentioned this before) I imagine the Arkenstone to be a jewel of the First Age, made of silima and capturing the light of the Trees, like the stones of the Silmarillion. But it was made by a dwarf, not Feanor, and hidden away and forgotten because (this part is canon) Mahal could not himself forge their like. Eru is not said to have tried, but I don't know that he could have either. (If that's not an argument for independence of being and the meaning of free will in Middle-Earth, I don't know what is, but we don't need to go there for this fic.)
> 
> Something I did like from the movies, and have stolen for this chapter, is the idea that dwarves mine for energy gases (methane, propane...) as well as metals and stones. Given M-E history, I am a little leery of the geology of its coal, but accept the idea on principle.


	85. Chapter 85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More stuff I made up. Whee!

Smaug paused and sniffed the air again. "Dwarves," he drawled, voice like an avalanche. "The stunted people. The unwanted children." His horned head turned, and the flames in his eyes narrowed and paled. "Has my burglar brought me presents in turn?"

He reared up high, passing Dwalin and Bifur entirely, but Nori was already beyond his reach. Unfortunately, the dragon drew in his wings as he searched, so that his soft spot was shielded behind them. His gem-encrusted claws came close to their stairs, and Dwalin drew back in frustration, waiting for a better opening before throwing an axe. His hands were sweating, and he wished his new axes had happened to have rawhide grips. He reached for the warg-skin to wipe them dry, and just then, Bifur roared and leapt.

The spear dug in among diamonds and coins like a pickaxe into ice, and Bifur shouted again in triumph. Smaug hardly seemed to notice -- his own scream of frustration was far louder -- but Bifur dug in, gripping now also with his free hand and both feet, struggling across the wing towards the dragon's back. If the dragon noticed his rider, he gave no sign, his head snaking towards arches and balconies high above. With every step the hunter took, jewels and metals clattered free and fell away. But somehow Bifur clung on, moving inch by inch across the dragon's armor. As Dwalin watched, he slowly gained the creature's back, and was able to pick his way among spines taller than himself. He reached the shoulder-joint and peered around it, briefly cocked his spear then drew it back. The angle was wrong, and Bifur was not one to waste his weapon. He caught Dwalin's eye for a moment and smiled. Then he turned back towards the shifting, shining surface of the neck and began to climb towards Smaug's head. He moved as surely as a ram on the mountain, and as unnoticed by the creature below.

Dwalin slowly climbed the stairs himself, trying to stay at Bifur's level. He slipped Keeper back into his harness, raised Grasper double-handed above his head. For once in his life, he was not worried about telegraphing his moves. Given any target, he would let fly with all he had.

Bifur reached Smaug's head -- perhaps it was only that the dragon could not conceive of his prey as being upon his own armored body. He stepped at last to stand atop the great skull, wisps of smoky dragon's-breath twining around him. He balanced lightly as Smaug shook -- perhaps the beast had some feeling there after all -- and plunged his spear deep into one gleaming eye.

Smaug screamed, and all his previous sounds were nothing compared to that. He shook his head hard and a long, forked tongue flicked from his mouth, reaching towards his eye. Bifur yanked up on the boar-spear, and black blood fell like hot rain. He stabbed again, and then the hall shook with the sounds of an explosion, and a thick flash of light and smoke blossomed in the air.

The dragon cried out again, voice higher now, in pain. It stumbled forwards, dropping its weight onto its wings, careening off the stairs not far from where Dwalin stood. Bifur tumbled down like a doll dropped by a child. Thorin's voice screamed from above: "Burn, you bitter old worm! _Burn!_ "

Another explosion resounded. The arrow hit Smaug's side and flamed out with the stink of melting metal. The dragon plunged away through a broken space where once great doors had hung, going down into the depths of the Mountain.

Dwalin ran down the stairs. It was much darker now, the dragon's departure leaving only dim red trailings behind, like clouds in the sky after sunset. It took him longer than he would have liked to find Bifur, as every step he took upon the treasure slid him in a different direction, and he did not quite dare to call out. Even the stone-sense was confusing, as there were hundreds or perhaps thousands of green geodes in the hoard, and Dwalin had never actually come across another in his life. The first one he found felt like a betrayal for being a book-end rather than a shield-brother. He cursed it unthinking, then gave up silence to shout Bifur's name.

His voice echoed in the hall, sounding more like Smaug's than Dwalin liked. But after a moment an answer came, "Dvalinn...." with an unmistakably Khuzdul accent. Dwalin rushed in that direction, and after awhile nearly fell over Bifur, sprawled on his back at the bottom of a deep valley of valuables. He lifted an arm lazily as Dwalin approached, signing, _Are you dead? These might be the Halls of Mahal...._ He trailed off, his hand falling among loose coins, looking about as if he expected their Maker to be coming towards them as well.

"I'm not dead and neither are you," said Dwalin, considerably relieved. He got his arms under Bifur, and slowly helped him to his feet. His bones seemed unbroken, and there was only a long scrape down one of his arms from the sharp-ridged edge of a Thror-faced coin. If he seemed calmer than Dwalin would have expected, perhaps it was only shock. He wished Oin were with them, and shoved thoughts of Kili down hard.

Once Bifur was standing, he started to move with purpose in the direction the dragon had taken. _He's not dead,_ Bifur said, and Dwalin decided for simplicity's sake that he would take this as referring to Smaug.

"I don't think so. You certainly hurt him, though! Seemed Thorin got a good hit as well." There were strange sounds coming from the Hall of the Kings -- hissings, crackling noises, and something like water under pressure at a boil. "Are you sure you want to follow?" Dwalin asked, and Bifur nodded. "Might be better to try the stairs, or find a place to rest...." Bifur did not answer. He took Dwalin's hand, pulling him along, and when he stumbled Dwalin could only help him stand again. At one point he cried out and lunged forward -- there was a spear among the treasures, a great black-handled, double-bladed weapon, with a half-dozen upcurved side-blades besides. He hesitated at the last moment, and Dwalin picked it up himself and pressed it into Bifur's hand. "From the House of Durin to the House of Ur," he said formally, with equal measures of inevitability, pride, and dread.

"It and I shall serve you," Bifur responded, in Westron a little slow but perfectly clear. He did not bow but walked forward with renewed purpose, using the weapon like a walking stick. He did not stop until the coins petered out beneath them, on the broad stairs that led down to the Hall of the Kings.

The walls were shattered in all directions. Smaug crouched red and black on the inlaid floor, like the mounded embers of a fire. The great golden statues loomed balefully above, Durin and Nain, Oin and Fror -- the last one crowned with icicles, representing his death in battle against the cold-drake. Dwalin shook his head; it was not his business to think of old tales, but of tactics. The dragon was huddled into himself, and one of the strange loud noises might have been him crying. Neither eye nor bare spot was revealed from their vantage. Dwalin moved sideways across the stairs, Bifur trailing him with the great spear raised as if to throw.

There was a sound like an army running over stone, and a wave of heat knocked the warriors back like a fist. Smaug reared up, roaring, his head nearly as high as the statues', his wings overshadowing them. The golden statues glowed from within. Fror's icicles were melting as if spring had come into the mountain, running down the kingly face like tears. Then his face slumped into his beard, and molten gold poured down onto the floor. Durin's visage followed moments later, then Oin's. Molten gold poured through the hall like water from a fountain, and Smaug fell over sideways, swamped beneath the burning wave.

When the gold had reached its level, all was still, save for the hissing where the surface cooled against the air. Then the surface rippled, roiled, and rolled in a golden tsunami. Smaug rose above it, dripping gold like sunrise, screaming like all of a forest on fire. His wings drew back, and with one mighty beat he mounted the air. His tail swung and he jolted forwards, tearing through the Front Gate of Erebor like a fist through paper. The hot air rushed out of the room, and the dragon rode upon it, down the River Running towards Lake-town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's scene with Smaug obviously in tribute to Legolas and the Oliphaunt of movie fame :)
> 
> "Dvalinn" is the name of a dwarf in the Voluspa, whence JRRT seems to have sourced all his dwarf names. It means "sleeping one", and also refers to a mythical stag. This is the secret reason why my Dwalin sleeps so easily, though of course the word is Old Norse (or modern Icelandic) and Khuzdul is supposedly a Semitic-type language. Such small things amuse your author no end.
> 
> PS to my dear fellow Nwalings -- it did make me a little sad to depart from the canon of our idiots together before Smaug as they were in the film. But I admit my heart was driven to my usual favorite alternative <3


	86. Chapter 86

Dwarves are the folk of the forges, and their bodies are proof against a great deal of noise and heat, but even Dwalin was overcome. There were no kings left in the Hall of the Kings, and no dragon either, only molten gold heaving in ruffled waves in the wind from the broken gates. He gasped for breath in the searing heat, and Bifur dragged him back the way they had come. It was a little cooler in the treasure-hall, and the heavy coins soothed Dwalin's burned bare feet. _Stay here_ , Bifur signed carefully on Dwalin's scalp, as Dwalin slumped in his grip. _I'll come back with help._

Dwalin tried to say "Don't need help" but no voice came from his singed throat, and Bifur had already turned away. It seemed terribly unfair that Dwalin should feel so bad when Bifur had been the one to do all the fighting, though Dwalin had been closer to the dragon's flames. He set down his axe and reached for his canteen, but the leather had split and the water either spilled or boiled away. He sighed, painfully, then lay down and let the dragon-warm coins cradle him.

"Mister Dwalin," said a high familiar voice, some time later, and Dwalin would have startled if he had the energy. He raised his head and saw the hobbit silhouetted against the dim glow of the treasure. "Are you all right?"

Dwalin tried to answer, producing a croak and a nod. Bilbo came over and helped him sit up, then handed over his own canteen. The first swallow started Dwalin coughing, and he choked up what felt like a lungful of ash and spat while the hobbit patted his back. The next few sips went down, progressively easier, and when the canteen was mostly empty he managed to mutter, "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," said Bilbo grandly. "Can you stand?"

Dwalin tried, though he had to be careful not to crush the little burgler, who was trying very hard to help. He had even made progress and was on one knee when Bifur rushed back in a clatter across the treasure. Bombur was beside him, and Thorin behind, keeping up as well as he could with a sword open in his hand. They cried aloud with relief when they saw Dwalin and Bilbo, and Bombur set the warrior on his feet as easily as he had doubtless helped his many children learning to walk. Dwalin only swayed slightly, and Bifur set his shoulder beside him for support.

"The Arkenstone," said Thorin urgently, "did you find it?"

"No," said Bilbo after a pause, and Dwalin turned to stare at him. He was clearly lying. "The dragon broke out of the Mountain -- how did you set it on fire like that?"

"Pitch on the arrowhead," said Bombur, "and then I suspect the dragon was all on fire within. It doesn't take much of a match to light a hearth that's burning," he added, and the literal application of that old saying made Dwalin laugh. Meanwhile Bifur made a sign of eyebrows that wasn't even Khuzdul, inquiring of Dwalin, _do we say anything?_

Dwalin shook his head fractionally. They had both seen the Arkenstone disappear, but if Bilbo denied it, perhaps he had his reasons. Meanwhile, the dragon had fled, but there was no reason to think it might not return. "Did you make more?" he asked Bombur, who nodded.

"Eight armed arrows left," said Thorin grimly, though he still held his sword, with his bow slung behind. "Where did the evil worm go?"

"Out," Dwalin rasped. "Downriver. Towards Lake-town."

Thorin hummed, eyes seeming to burn with more than sulfur. "We might see from the guardhouse at the Little Gate," he said. "Dwalin, can you go into the gas-mines and get Balin and Bofur, and meet me there? And where's Nori?"

Dwalin nodded, and with an effort pushed off Bifur to stand alone. "Went to tell his brothers," he said and coughed, continued, "about Smaug's left breast. For Ori's sling," he added, close to laughing again. He wondered if he might not be becoming a bit mad.

Thorin looked at him as if he were considering the possibility as well. "Bring Bofur to the Little Gate," he said instead, "and have Balin fetch the brothers Ri there as well. Can you do that?" he added, and Dwalin nodded. Bifur conveyed by posture that he and the boar-spear would help. Thorin nodded abruptly, then spun on his heel as well as he could on the shifting surface. He glanced at Bilbo, and added, "You come with me."

They departed, and Dwalin racked his memory for a best path to the gas-mines. "Down," he said to Bifur, who nodded and set himself back beneath Dwalin's arm. They went together into the darker halls, down broad and silent ramps where dwarves had once lived and labored in great throngs. There were endless tools and treasures there in Erebor, but nothing else like Dwalin's brother -- solid and iridescent, shaped and worked into beauty and use. Or perhaps, Dwalin mused, as his feet sought the path and his arm accepted Bifur's support, everything in Erebor was striving to become something like Balin, but only in one dwarven personage had that material and method been so finely honed. He sighed as the stones beneath his feet cooled, easing his burns and welcoming, and went to his brother with that same sense of coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo doubtless have quite the conversation on their way to the Little Gate, but POV does not allow me to describe that here. Its consequences will become apparent later.


	87. Chapter 87

It was very cold outside the Little Gate, at least compared to the dragon-heated mountain. Balin and the brothers Ri had carried most of the Company's things to their new site, so they were quite comfortably set up, with a cookfire burning, heaps of furs, and a clear view all the way down to Lake-town. Dwalin sat on a lookout ledge, a fur around his shoulders and his feet resting against cold stone. He was unable to look away. His eyes felt burned by smoke and flame and something like unshed tears, but he could hardly blink. His eyelashes were full of ashes, and they scraped.

Smaug was easy to see, a fierce ember burning through the night. He followed the river, never going very high. From time to time he would submerge himself, falling into his own reflection in the water. The first time, Thorin shouted -- they thought the dragon might have drowned, though the red glow persisted and the water blew up steam. Within the hour, Smaug emerged and flew further downriver. Dwalin would have traded an eyetooth for a telescope, but the Little Gate's watch-post was long since destroyed, and he had no desire to re-enter the mountain to search for a workable replacement. Smaug shone brighter and more baleful than any star above, hotter and fiercer than the late-night lights of Lake-town.

When he neared the settlement, Smaug spiraled high into the air, like one of Tharkun's fireworks. Instead of exploding into blossoms, though, he stooped like an eagle and fell with astonishing speed towards the town. He let loose a gout of flame, and the wooden city burned in answer. Time and again he climbed and crossed, setting buildings and boats and walkways alight, until Lake-town looked like a map of itself writ in lines of flickering gold.

Dori wailed, and he and Nori clung together, though Nori's tears were silent. Dwalin still could not weep, but his throat was thick with worry and dismay -- he could no longer push aside thoughts of Kili and Fili, Oin and Gloin. He knew he might be witnessing their deaths, silenced by the distance. And doubtless Men were dying in droves, the kind Men who had outfitted them for this last edge of the journey -- and what an unjust repayment they received. Dwalin devoutly regretted that he had not had Bifur's courage, nor Thorin's tactics, to have done Smaug any injury himself. They had driven the evil beast from their home, and it only went forth to deliver terror and destruction unto others.

Smaug stooped again, long and low, then suddenly veered off-course, spinning in midair. Dwalin felt something like the weight of iron, the pull of a magnet, rolling with the dragon, and it made him dizzy. He might have made a sound, because strong hands held him in place, where he might easily have spun down himself from the battlement. He lay back, head still reeling. There were murmurs among the Company, then a shout: Smaug had fallen, and his light gone out beneath the waters of the Lake.

The city still burned. Dwalin struggled back to his feet to watch, feeling helpless, but needing at least to bear witness to this last, awful loss to the monster. Most of the dwarves crowded by the ledge, but Dwalin saw Thorin leave, walking determinedly downhill and back towards the Mountain. Somehow he felt sure his king was returning to the Hall of Kings, where the grand historical statues lay reduced to a featureless layer on the floor. He was too dizzy to follow Thorin with more than his eyes, but he watched until the little lantern disappeared behind stone, then turned grimly back to watch as Lake-town burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to think the black arrow was magnetic iron, and that smaug had over the years ingested enough magnetic elements himself, and internally heated them well above the Curie temperature with all his fire. so it shot straight home and much deeper than even the yew-bow (or wind thingy or whatever) might account for, through the vulnerable left breast, and given that location i think it went straight through smaug's heart and the iron-rich blood concentrated there.
> 
> this turned out to be a very short chapter. i hope it makes up for it in intensity or something?? i have a lot of feels about the events described...


	88. kind and kin

They did not set watches that night, since except for Thorin, no one could turn away from the sight of the city on fire. Even Dwalin sat up sleepless. Slowly the city darkened again, fires put out or burned through -- it was impossible to tell at such a distance. When dawn broke, both Men's cities were visible through wreaths of morning fog, but the smoke of Smaug's destruction streamed straight up into the sky, taller than the ruined spires of Dale.

Dwalin's hands, face, and feet itched and ached where the dragon-heat had touched him, and his skin came away in flakes when Nori touched his cheek. With virtually no experience of burns and no Oin to advise them, the dwarves were at a loss -- the plantain salve melted and ran off Dwalin's injuries. Bilbo recommended honey, which at least felt soothing, and Nori clambered back up the mountainside to bring down ice and snow. One by one, the other dwarves re-entered the mountain, eager and astonished at the wealth and home they had reclaimed. One by one they came back out, since inside still reeked of dragon and Bombur had left the food at the Little Gate. They brought armloads of treasures to show off or share, and Dwalin might have found it all very soothing, were it not for his still-missing family and Lake-town. As it was, he remained less than comfortable, even when Thorin finally emerged in the early evening.

"The Coronation Chamber was broken from the treasury below," the king pronounced, "and the Arkenstone is gone from the Highest Throne." Dwalin's eyes narrowed at that, and narrowed further as Thorin displayed the valuables he had found worthy of retrieving. He had a golden crown for himself, and a child-sized coat of mithril mail which he bestowed upon the hobbit with some ceremony and a warm smile. Bilbo accepted it with grave thanks, though he said nothing about the Arkenstone himself.

No one else seemed much perturbed, and Dwalin realized that Bifur and Nori might not even realize that the bright stone Bilbo had taken meant more than the little jade spoon. As the burglar (he had certainly earned the title, Dwalin thought) and Bombur cooked dinner, Dwalin pondered the matter and came to a single conclusion: he needed to talk to his brother.

But Balin opened the first of many bottles of extremely old brandy, and Dori (braids wound in amethysts, strong hands heavy with rings) poured it out into great crystal goblets. Nori (who had also stayed outside all day, climbing up for ice and claiming to enjoy the view) played cup-bearer so Dwalin could stay off his feet. While Dwalin honestly felt that was excessive, he had to admit it was also luxuriant and faintly erotic to recline on furs and have his smiling beloved ply him with drink. But when dinner was over and darkness had fallen, he returned to the lookout ledge with Nori at his side. Lake-town had been reduced to a few faint fires, more on the shoreline than in its previous domain above the water. Nori's sharper eyes picked out one small light that seemed to be well up the River Running, and as they watched, it blazed up suddenly blue.

"Our kin are coming!" Dwalin shouted, and everyone came to crowd around and stare. That had to be a signal-flare, and one that at least referred to Durin colors (it was too pale and too purple, but the intention was clear enough). Ori conferred with his eldest brother and found a few bottles of grain spirits; then he and Bofur tinkered, and before long they had a great blue flame burning in a bowl. The distant light winked a few times in response, and they draped a fur behind the lamp and drew it away to blink back. A great weight lifted from Dwalin's heart -- he still did not know if all his family were alive, but at least some had escaped destruction and were coming to meet them. He prayed to Mahal that it be all of them, and let himself lie back again, and fell somewhere between sleep and drunken stupor while Nori anointed him again with the honey.

He awoke to more honey, this time in the coffee mug Bombur pressed into his hand. His skin was shockingly soft and tender, but sound, and his feet bore his weight. While he drank, he made a reconnoitre of the landscape, establishing in his mind a likely location for the signal-flame and a reasonable path between here and there. Thorin had already disappeared back inside the mountain, but Nori was willing to both retrieve Dwalin's boots and scout out with him to re-unite the Company. Their brothers searched the treasure for bells and a trumpet to aid them in making the connection, and Nori triumphantly produced a brittle but unburnt silken banner, a raven dyed deep blue on white gone golden with age.

Dwalin would have carried the banner himself, but Nori refused to hand it over, and marched out of camp without a backwards glance. He made his way down the broken road as lightly as a spring lamb, and Dwalin jogged after him, laughing. He carried nothing but his water canteen and the trumpet for calling, and bells rang on his gauntlets and his belt. As they descended through the sunshine, they might have been any happy couple on a morning's ramble out through the countryside. Dwalin remembered Balin in the days before Erebor fell, going out with his many sweethearts and picnic-baskets or hunting gear, hair in a thick dark tumble artfully jeweled. He turned to look back, and Balin was watching them, his smile visible in the contours of his snowy beard. They both waved, and Dwalin and Nori marched on.

Near noon they topped a little rise, and Dwalin sounded the trumpet. It rang out through the rolling terrain, shockingly loud -- the last time he had blown such a call, he had been at the head of an army. In this empty country, all that happened was small birds flapping up in grave offense. Nori covered his ears, laughing, and pushed the trumpet aside for a kiss. This turned easily into a second kiss, then a third with their arms wrapping into an embrace before Dwalin huffed and put Nori firmly out to arm's length. Further entanglements could wait till after this rendezvous. They went swiftly on, and less than an hour later, they heard a wild cry from the south: "Khazad ai-menu!"

"KILI!" Dwalin broke into a dead run, then slowed after a few minutes to allow Nori to catch up and keep pace. The banner snapped in the wind, and Dwalin took it, feeling it pull like a rising kite in his hands. He saw the lean dark form running towards him and shouted again, and they hit each other at full speed.

Kili rolled under with his perfect, familiar grace, and they were clinging together and laughing, tumbling over and over on the stony ground, the old banner fallen on the ground. At last Dwalin allowed Kili to pin him, Kili's tangled, silken hair falling into his face, the lad's smile as bright as the moon. "Mister Dwalin," he panted, and Dwalin hugged him close.

"Kili," said Dwalin again, relishing the name. "Swift and sound as ever!" He sat up, dislodging Kili's pin without thinking, and settling the lad in his lap as if he were still a little dwarfling. Although that placed Kili's head a little higher than his own, now, and Dwalin hastened to add "Where's your brother?"

"Back with Gloin," said Kili, and Dwalin could not help hearing a strange, remote note in Kili's voice. The dark eyes must have caught some change in his expression, because Kili hastened on, "And Oin with them! Don't worry, we're all as well as ever, if not better. How did you fare at Erebor?" He looked around with sudden anxiety. "Where's Thorin?"

"He's in the mountain. He landed a good shot into Smaug, too, before the worm fled." Kili's gaze lifted towards the Lonely Mountain, and as he looked he flared vividly into Dwalin's stone-sense -- a tiger's-eye, striated dark and gold. There was something more to him now, though -- as if the strands of light within him had found new angles upon themselves, gleaming in half a dozen directions, twinkling like a star. Kili met Dwalin's eyes again then, unexpectedly keen. "I'm worried about him," said Dwalin, to his own surprise.

But Kili nodded gravely, settling himself closer to Dwalin, resting his cheek on his old teacher's shoulder. "Nori," he said, looking up at the thief, "would you set the banner, so the rest of my party can meet us here? I think," he added to Dwalin, "that Thorin might be worried about me, now, too. But I'm better than I've ever been," he took a long, slow breath, then smiled, "and I think I can trust you to see it."

"Tell us, then," said Nori, shoring up the banner-pole with a rock, and dropping down to sit by Dwalin's side. Kili looked at him levelly, then grinned again.

"Do you remember the copper-haired guard, in Mirkwood?" he asked, and when they nodded, his smile went wider and warmer. "Remember how she killed the orcs, when they chased us down the river? Well, the orcs trailed us right into Lake-town after you lot left, and the elves were right after them, still killing. I was near to dead then, from my wound," he looked down at himself, eyes wide, "but for that one. She stayed and sang to me; she gave me my own life like a gift. And she's kindled for me." The expression on Kili's face was pure gladness, simple as starlight. Nori and Dwalin both gasped aloud -- the situation was unimaginable -- but Kili's voice was sure. Dwalin pulled Nori in tight, and the three held each other close until other familiar voices began to call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would love to have a headcanon in which dwarves have elaborate colored-fire signaling techniques, but in fact i can think of absolutely no reason for them to have any such thing. so they settle for burning something a little blue, which isn't too hard to come by, especially if you happen to be oin or ori and know a bit of chemistry.
> 
> tauriel's healing chant continues to fascinate me. i've written another fic-series (not entirely compatible with this) based upon it. in particular, i'm stuck on the phrase "annen annin", which i would translate as "my gift given to him" -- the precise effects of which i have chosen to interpret in my own peculiar ways :)


	89. Chapter 89

Kili leapt up and turned towards Fili's voice, then visibly stopped himself and waited, standing still as a hunted deer. Dwalin squeezed his shoulders and let go, walking forth to meet his kin.

Fili and Gloin were arm-in-arm, and Oin a few steps behind them, his hearing-trumped stashed away in his belt. Dwalin waded in, soundly clapped about the shoulders by his family and returning the gesture indiscriminately. He might have expected a hug from Fili instead, but the prince's eyes were dark and distant, so Dwalin hit their foreheads together hard enough to make the lad grimace first and then grin. Gloin, not to be outdone, cracked his head to Dwalin's next, while Oin stood aside looking very weary of them all. Dwalin might have cracked his cousin's head just for that, but forbore. His family were far too tense together already, though it was enough for him that they were all alive and walking, and reunited.

By the time they met up with Nori and Kili, Dwalin had reminded Gloin of the river-snails' wound-closing glue and accepted the inevitable crack about his lost good looks (to his credit, Oin at least smiled into Dwalin's scarred face with complete affection and admiration while delivering it). They turned back towards the mountain, Nori and Kili carrying the banner together while Dwalin outlined their story: the Back Door and the knocking bird, the red emerald, the hobbit's tricks (including the jade spoon but omitting the Arkenstone), and Bifur and Thorin's blows against the dragon. A few times, it seemed like Gloin or Kili was going to speak, but Dwalin forestalled them. "Wait to tell the King," he said, not least because he did not want to watch his family fight. "Take off your shoes and feel the stone," he urged, when he had run out of tale to tell. FIli and Kili obeyed him as he expected; Gloin, Oin, and Nori were more of a surprise. Oin's expression of sensual pleasure combined with absolute shock made Dwalin laugh, and he clapped the healer's shoulder again, shouting right in his ear: "Erebor says welcome home!"

Gloin's stone-sense had never been strong, and he soon snagged his toe on a fallen branch and put his boots back on with a laugh. Fili and Kili wore identical expressions of studious determination, and Dwalin found it very satisfying that he could still provoke them to that. Even more satisfying were their slow, incredulous smiles, though Fili gave Kili a long strange look, somewhere between wistfulness and outrage. But Kili's returning grin was as irrepressibly joyful as ever, and Fili smiled back before turning to take Gloin's arm.

They climbed to the Little Gate in late afternoon and found the campsite empty, except for many birds flying over or circling above. A bit of knotted thread hung by the entrance to the mountain, directing them to the Children's Corridor. Dwalin led them there, glad that the path skirted the Hall of the Kings and all of Smaug's hoard -- though Gloin inevitably asked after that, Dwalin brushed him aside. The old Children's Kitchen had a fire burning and the smell of Bombur's cooking, and Dwalin ran ahead to hold the door open, deafening everyone with a fanfare on the trumpet.

"Put that down," said Thorin, almost laughing, though he did not look as happy as Dwalin might have liked. He embraced his heirs, then was upstaged by Ori dragging Fili and Kili into an embrace together and crying, peppering them with questions without waiting for answers. The rest of the reunion sorted itself out until Bilbo and Bombur came in with golden serving platters, and if the meal upon them was still fish-cakes, there was still fine old wine to drink as well. Fili settled in between Thorin and Gloin. Kili still ranged restlessly around the hall, goblet in one hand and fish in the other. But that was not particularly unlike him, nor was the way Fili's eyes followed his brother's every move. The only thing that was faintly unusual was Gloin occasionally vying for Fili's attention, or for that matter getting it. Dwalin huffed and applied himself to his own fish-cake.

When the meal was over, there was music -- Thorin at the harp and Bilbo singing, and everyone else joining in with joy. Dwalin drummed on a cookpot for a few rounds, but when he saw Kili drifting towards the door, he rose quietly and followed.

Kili, it seemed, could not get outside of the Mountain fast enough. He knew little enough of how to read a wall in the dark -- Thorin's Halls had hardly been marked, and Kili had probably never had more use for them than pleasing a teacher or two. But he headed back to the Little Gate, quick enough on his long legs that Dwalin had to trot to keep up. When Kili made it outside, he drew in the cold night air as if he'd been drowning, and went at once the edge of the overlook. Nor did he gaze back towards the remains of Lake-town, rather to Dwalin's surprise -- he lay back full-length on the stone, and looked straight up towards the stars.

He stopped a good twenty feet away, and made a point of huffing and stomping a bit before saying aloud, "There's better views of the sky upwards on the mountain, lad. Would you like to see?"

Kili laughed, a low and not entirely happy sound, and Dwalin came closer. He still could not imagine a kindling elf, and the idea that a dwarf could kindle one was purely ludicrous. Then again, so was the idea that Erebor no longer contained a dragon, and his young cousin had never been a very good liar.

"Come on then," said Dwalin, as if Kili had actually answered. He stood up, at least, and they moved together in the starlit night. They had already gone so many miles, since Kili was small enough to sit on one of Dwalin's shoulders, and since he'd been grown enough to be the scout who led them on their path. This time Dwalin led, over guard-routes he could have sworn he'd forgotten, up to lookout points and supply-stores and, finally, an observatory with a great brass telescope. The primary lens was smashed, but the smaller spotting scope was intact. "Look at the stars if you like," said Dwalin, but Kili shook his head.

"It's enough just to feel the light," he said, then pressed his lips together as if he'd said too much.

"No, it's not," said Dwalin with certainty only partly left over from the wine. "But if it's the best we have here, I think you'll take it."

Kili laughed again, this time more fondly, and he came to clap Dwalin on the shoulder. "My thanks," he said, and lay back again on the stone, looking up. Dwalin unfolded his warg-skin enough to cushion both their heads, and let himself fall asleep while Kili gazed silently into the deep, bright sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'ma be out of the country FOR SCIENCE!! for a little bit, not sure of scheduling or connectivity. but i'm not forgetting this, & will update again as soon as possible. i'll miss you all!!
> 
> ETA i am such a geek i am writing this on an airplane! HARD CORE! (sorry though this is not a smut chapter. soon, my little chickadees; very soon XD)


	90. Chapter 90

Dwalin was wakened by a voice speaking in a language he scarcely knew he knew: the ravens' tongue, clacking and cawing into his ear. _"Awaken, sons of Durin!"_ it said. _"War is coming! Enemies! Armies! Arise!"_

Kili was awake now too, his eyes wide with astonishment as the raven jumped back and forth between them. "Is this beast mad?" he asked Dwalin, shooing at the bird, which leapt a Man's-height into the air.

 _"Fools!"_ it shrieked, spinning and circling. It climbed higher, staring at them indecisively, and called down something incomprehensible but definitely angry.

Dwalin quelled Kili with a look -- at least he could still do that -- and wracked his own brain for the right sounds. _"Hello,"_ he tried, feeling exactly like the fool he was called. The dark bird dived at him, veered off high again. _"Hello!"_ " he tried again louder, while Kili gawked. "It's talking," he said to the lad. "They lived among us, in Erebor of old."

"Hey, bird?" called Kili, in quizzical Westron, then in Khuzdul, "Bâhzundush? Kark?"

 _"Kark!"_ shrieked the raven, pronouncing the word with its ravenish overtone. It banked and landed some ten feet away from them, head tilted suspiciously.

 _"Kark,"_ Dwalin repeated, trying to get it to sound right. "Khazad," he added, then "umâral. Umârak?" No, that's closer to Khuzdul, he thought, but the bird seemed to understand.

"Friends," it said in reasonably clear Westron, though its wings still shifted uncomfortably over its back. "Enemies. Army. Elk. Army. Men." It strutted in a small circle, preened its neck-feathers, looked back at them suspiciously. _"Kark,"_ it repeated, as if to be sure.

"Friends," said Kili back, firmly. He rubbed his eyes, glanced at Dwalin, and said _"Kark?"_ " with an overtone of sorts, though not the right one.

The raven's wings rattled, and it came a few steps closer. "Enemy comes," it repeated in Westron, and then in the shared language, very slowly: _"The Dragon Smaug lies dead in the Lake. An archer of Men brought him down. But their settlement is burned and destroyed, and they look to the Mountain with envy and in need. A heron flew into Mirkwood, and now Elves ride out. Perhaps they hunt for carrion, but they are not unarmed."_ The sounds washed over Dwalin; he followed perhaps half of it, and sat silent as he puzzled the rest out. Kili meanwhile had taken a nicked and blunted arrowhead from a pocket, and he tossed it towards the bird. It flipped it over, apparently admiring the shine. _"My thanks, son of Durin,"_ it added. _"Ever has there been friendship and generosity between our peoples, though you and I may be strangers for now._ "

"What's it saying?" Kili asked, and Dwalin could only shake his head.

"Go to King Dain in the Iron Hills," he said. "Tell him Thorin Oakenshield has reclaimed Erebor. Tell him to bring an army!" Dain had denied them before, but if Smaug were dead, he too might come for carrion if nothing else. He dug in his own pockets, found nothing better than a ginger biscuit leftover from supper, and tossed that to the bird. It preened its neck before eating it, while Dwalin concentrated fiercely. When it had finished it fixed him with one black eye, and he carefully tried to sound out: _"The sons of Durin have taken back our home. When we defend it, we welcome ravens to Erebor again."_ It was not a very satisfying statement, but he was relieved to have produced one at all.

The raven searched the ground for crumbs, swallowed them tidily, and spread its wings. _"I will bear your message, and I wish you luck."_ It took Kili's offering in its beak, and launched into the sky.

"What did it say?" Kili demanded. "What did you say?"

Dwalin explained, as he watched the dark shape fade through the sky towards the north. At least it was going in the right direction. He took out more biscuits, handed half to Kili. "We'd better go warn Thorin," he added, more worried now than ever. Against all odds, their little company now held the Lonely Mountain. But against how many must they now defend it, and how could they, and for how long? And what in Mahal's name was their burglar going to do with the emblem of Thorin's right to rule, their bright and precious Arkenstone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I much like the recent tumblr discussions about the relationships between Erebor's dwarves and ravens. In my head the language they share is neither a pure bird creation nor quite one of the Free People; it developed uniquely between the two. Dwalin has not spoken it in many years, though he did learn it in his youth, because the ravens don't cross Mirkwood to the Blue Mountains. The language has persisted more among the birds, though, because they have continued to speak with the dwarves of the Iron Hills. Blessed be Inja of tumblr's khuzdul4u for an old word-of-the-day used here <3 So this is more fanon and just-me than canon of any kind, but I think the story will still be adequately served.


	91. Chapter 91

Kili helped Dwalin close the Little Gate, setting the heavy crossbar behind and the iron latches along the bottom and top. Dwalin's mind raced; how could the Company hold the Mountain at all? The Front Gate could not be closed; it would have to be rebuilt from the rubble where Smaug had twice shattered the stones. And since very few edibles could have possibly kept through the decades, they would have very little in the way of food. He said as much to Kili, who only nodded before setting off alone to hunt. It tore at Dwalin's heart to see him go, but he turned his back and went inside to speak to the others.

The city's corridors were dark, the air thick with dust and sulfur and the lingering burn of overheated metal. But in the Great Hall the gold was gleaming; Gloin, Fili, and Bombur were up in its vaulted heights, tinkering with the mirrors and lenses that drew the sunlight in. Beneath, Thorin was hip-deep in treasure, the shifting, massive mess of riches and artistry that had been Erebor's glory and the dragon's hoard. He walked, crouched, sifted and examined; then he discarded whatever glories he found and walked on. Dori, Balin, and Ori were similarly occupied, while Nori, Bofur, and Bifur had taken up beautiful old instruments and were making music, soft and merry. Oin sat by himself at a makeshift desk, vigorously pounding something to bits with mortar and pestle. The hobbit was nowhere in sight.

Dwalin willed himself to set that matter aside. The armies' approach mattered more. The treasure pulled at Dwalin as he walked through it, clinging and sliding beneath each step, worse than crossing a swamp. When he reached Thorin, his heart sank. The king wore a crown, but the face beneath it was desperate and haggard. "I have not found the Arkenstone," said Thorin, his voice pitched low. "It must be in here, mustn't it? And I must have it, in my right to rule." Then Dwalin's heart broke inside him like a splitting stone.

He took Thorin's shoulders, shook him gently. "You are already King under the Mountain," he said. "You have always been my king." But he could see, stone-sense more obvious than any ordinary vision, that something was terribly wrong with Thorin. The familiar gold and granite were obscured, lost beneath a lurid wash of light. Dwalin squinted, then tightened his hands. He would have given anything not to have needed to speak on, but it was his duty: "A raven came to Erebor this morning. Ill news. Smaug is dead, but Lake-town is destroyed. Men are coming to the Mountain, and elves with them. We must defend ourselves, and prepare for siege. I sent the raven on to Dain, to tell him we are here and bring us an army."

Thorin blanched first, then flushed dark red. "I must have the Arkenstone," he repeated, as his hands reached down into the heaps of wealth.

Dwalin had seen madness before, of more than one kind, and he wondered briefly if Oin could possibly preparing a remedy. "We must have a wall, Thorin," he said gently. "A heavy one, laid quickly, where the Front Gate has been destroyed. And food -- Kili's gone to hunt. Bifur and Fili should go too, at least. Everyone else must work at masonry, or we will not be able to defend ourselves, no matter what the rights."

"I am the king," said Thorin, voice rising, but Dwalin cut him off -- "I am your Master-at-arms and Defense, my liege," the title tasting strange on his tongue, "and this is what your kingdom requires."

The music had gone silent. "We must prepare for siege. Or war," said Dwalin, louder, wishing he had any other words to offer. "If you can hunt or gather food, do it now. Whomever else can lift a stone, report to secure the Front Gate. We'll set a watch at Eyrie Ledge --" he was getting ahead of himself, but there were really no choices to be made. "And everyone take what you want in arms and armor, anything you can find. Not as treasure but for use. If we cannot settle this peacefully," he eyed Thorin with a doubt he had never felt before, "there will be war. We have won so much already," he heard his tone turn entreating, begging Thorin to hear and understand, "we must not fail to defend it, now."

Thorin's dark lashes fluttered, as if he were trying to awaken. Then he shook his head, shook Dwalin's hands away, sloshing off through shoals of coin and gems and trailing his ringed fingers through. Dwalin looked past him, saw Bilbo sitting on the stairs with his eyes fixed down at his own small hands. Dwalin watched him, searching for his stone-sense and finding nothing at all. His head pounded as if someone were hammering it. He took a deep breath of the dragon-tainted air and coughed, then turned and headed for the Gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having reviewed some canon and meta recently.... I think the Ring's powers extended somewhat to shielding the Arkenstone. Its expression of its nature to Bilbo is to provide invisibility, and of course he is extremely anxious to hide what he's taken. It's not entirely effective -- as Smaug could still smell the hobbit, I suspect some impression of the gem might sometimes touch the stone-sense. Also, I wonder if some of Bilbo's own attitude towards the Arkenstone was affected by the Ring -- his willingness to steal it to begin with, and later to trade it away in a way that would preserve him as Ring-bearer and get him out of Erebor, no matter what was to come of the war. But perhaps, deprived of that little (in my interpretation) bit of silima and the light of the Two Trees, the Ring had not yet the power to keep him from returning to the Company, loyalty and guilt and all.


	92. Chapter 92

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many apologies for delay and likely poor performance here. my fairy god-daughter vonnie c-p died after a long siege against cancer, then my laptop's logic board failed, and today my cat dj spooky's chronic health conditions became terminal and i killed and buried him. 
> 
> this imagining, this writing, and this mythcraft go out in their respective honors and memories, with an android tablet and a bluetooth keyboard and all my heart of love.

Lifting the stones and placing them square was soothing work. It had never been his trade, but Dwalin supposed it came naturally to Mahal's people. Certainly he remembered playing at stacking rocks as a child, and building forts for fun. If this was deadly earnest, still the craft of it was a pleasure, setting rubble to right and use. Everyone sang as they went, and at least Dwalin hoped Thorin would hear them, and the music penetrate the king's obsession. But Thorin did not come closer than the splattered edges where molten gold had flowed from the old statues. Once Dwalin thought he saw the king dancing, spinning in a circle on the bright metal, but when he turned to look properly Thorin was already hurrying back to the halls.

Bofur was the best at it, unsurprisingly. Bombur set the design -- there would be parley-holes, with ramps to them, set at various heights. There were arrow-notches, supports for a siege engine, and a viewing-platform with a sturdy, crenellated wall at the very top. The River Running splashed through directly below, down a fall and into the beautiful old pool. Obviously there would no longer be a Gate, in terms of something that opened and closed. There was not enough material to fully close the entrance while maintaining any semblance of fighting or speaking through it. If there were any accord, they could open the Little Gate; Men might or might not remember it, but of course Dwalin did.

He hardly slept for four days. Once Bifur dragged him out to hunt on the mountainside, which was just as well, as they brought down two boars and it was all the pair of them could do to dress the carcasses and bring them back. Bifur might have further delayed them with a celebration of satisfied blood-lust, but Dwalin had no heart for it. He had not Bifur's warrior heart after all, to enjoy every moment of life to its fullest; worry pulled him back inside the Mountain as quickly as the hundredweights of much-needed rations could allow. Bifur patted Dwalin's tattoeed scalp a little sadly, then set his shoulder to the travois just the same.

It surprised Dwalin, though in retrospect it probably shouldn't have, to see Nori wriggle through the new wall and stand outside of it, waving up at the workers near the top. Bombur laughed at Dwalin's expression. "Of course there's a thief-passage," said their cook, whose nominal trade was architecture and who apparently loved it even more passionately than he did food. "If we do run short on supplies, we'll send him and the hobbit out, eh? We're not so many, the Men won't miss a thing." Dwalin was not so sanguine about the Men's resources, but the massed lights that settled closer each night did indicate a substantial horde on the move. If it had only been Men, Dwalin might have pitied them as refugees. But the raven had spoken unmistakeably of elves and elk as well. Thranduil had not been a merciful king in the time of Smaug's first destruction, though indeed their passage west through Mirkwood had been far larger than their attempt to go east, and he had not molested them at the time. Nor had there been giant spiders, in Dwalin's youth. He shook off all his memories, and went on preparing for war.

Of course, more-recent memories would not be so easily displaced. Dwalin eventually managed to corner his brother, privately, to ask if (purely in theory) actually having the Arkenstone might restore Thorin's self-possession. But Balin shook his head sadly. Thror had the Arkenstone in his place of pride, and gone mad as mercury anyway. Thrain, Balin opined, had always been canny; it was powerlessness that drove him to rash wanderings. (They had both been part of Thrain's final escort, before he disappeared into Mirkwood. Only Tharkun claimed to have seen him since, and despite the ring and map and key, the brothers agreed this was not a satisfactory end to Thrain's story. Dwalin only hoped it had ended with merciful death, and thought it unlikely he would find out before he and Thrain met again to rebuild the world.)

On the fourth night, Nori apparently reached some similar conclusions about the hobbit's theft. "Bilbo has it, doesn't he," he whispered in Dwalin's ear, as they rested together with stone-dust on their hands and bacon on their plates. Dwalin started, then slowly nodded. He would not lie to his shield-brother, whatever conclusions or actions Nori might come to. "Well, that's burglary," said Nori, his tone arch, though his face was tired and sad. "I wonder what market he'll find for it, or if he'll think it sets him up as a king."

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. The Arkenstone seemed more important than that. But how could it be, when what mattered was the armies approaching? No jewel could feed Men or dwarves, nor keep off the winter's chill. He shrugged, and when they finished their food, they went back to work on the wall.


	93. Chapter 93

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for sex with crying in it.

The work was good, but once the construction was finished, Dwalin hated the siege-wall. Erebor's Great Gate should have been wide open to travelers and trade, or shut as solid as an untouched mountainside. Bombur's design was admittedly appropriate to their tactical needs, and Dwalin had labored as long and hard as anyone. But when Bombur cooked "his crew" a feast to celebrate its completion, Dwalin had no appetite. Thorin was not in attendance either (in fairness, he had hardly lifted a stone; his attention was lost in the treasures). His absence chafed Dwalin as well, but chasing Thorin down for lecturing had never been much use. When Bombur came to serve the sweets, Dwalin said his excuses, walked away from the table and out of the mountain.

Outside the Little Gate, snow spattered the stonework. It had not reached the lower elevation of the Great Gate, but it would, soon enough. He leaned on the overlook, counting Men's fires and estimating their distance: too close. He brooded about elves; the mirage of their firelight in Mirkwood. What did Thranduil's people know of Erebor's passes and defenses, and would they send out scouts by dark of night? If anyone came, Dwalin would kill them.

Bifur arrived with hot brandy and a bowl of cherry compote, and Dwalin chose to make a magnanimous exception. His shield-brother was cheerful and drunk, singing soft nonsense and feeding Dwalin from his fingers. But of course Bifur had never been to Erebor, and would not perceive the mountain's tragedy. He did not ask Dwalin what was wrong, but eventually Dwalin told him anyway. "This is home," he said, "but nothing is right. We should be rebuilding, not walling ourselves in. Our king should be ruling us, not scavenging." He choked on the last word. His mind was full of the Arkenstone, shining, rising, and then disappearing in Bilbo's invisible hands. Dwalin wanted it back. Perhaps he could kill Bilbo.

 _We defend,_ Bifur signed, with surprising vehemence, calloused fingers pushing hard on Dwalin's palm. _Stones fall, we build and rebuild. Lives are lost and we go on fighting. Those we love go mad,_ he touched the axe in his forehead, pressed a bladed hand-shape to the side of Dwalin's skull, _and we must love and care for them the more._

Dwalin thought of Bifur's ease in Mirkwood, and shuddered. Bifur leaned in and kissed him, and Dwalin bit back, part love and much general irritability. Bifur roared and swarmed onto him, and the pudding fell unheeded. They wrestled in earnest, harder than they ever had, scrabbling in zigzags across the flat broad yard in front of the Gate. Dwalin got his weight on top of the older warrior, but the snow was slippery, and Bifur found the rock beneath it and twisted. He rolled them over to the edge of the staircase, and they fell.

They tumbled some distance, still struggling throughout, then slammed to a stop on a landing with Dwalin below and Bifur on his back. One of Dwalin's hands was pinned beneath his own chest, and Bifur immediately tucked the other one through the straps of Dwalin's axe-harness, trapping him in is own weaponry. Dwalin bellowed and tried to roll out, but Bifur laughed aloud, riding Dwalin as easily as Nori sat his pony. He set sharp teeth into the nape of Dwalin's neck, biting him back before kissing him again. _"So big,"_ he whispered, braided beard and Khuzdul tickling Dwalin's ear, _"but not as big as those boars we took, are you? I want to have you here,"_ he went on, _"pin you down till you spill for me, like a boar bleeding hot into the snow..."_ Dwalin was writhing now more than bucking. He couldn't remember how to say _yes_ in Khuzdul, or that Bifur understood Westron either, but he managed to nod his cheek against that long, softly tangled beard. _"Good soldier,"_ said Bifur. He fussed for a moment with Dwalin's straps, securing the axe-harness through the knuckleduster. Dwalin choked; he had never imagined anyone using his own armor against him that way. _"So good,"_ said Bifur, setting Grasper and Keeper to the side. _"Give me your other hand,"_ and like a good soldier, Dwalin obeyed.

Bifur did not bind that one, but stripped its knuckleduster slowly away, one buckle and one joint at a time. Each inch of bared skin was lavished with tongue and teeth, and when the whole of it was bare, Bifur slid it up inside his own clothes. His body heat made a sharp contrast to the chilly air, and Dwalin groped through the thick pelt, awkwardly seeking Bifur's paps. Instead he found his heartbeat, pounding hard and steady as Mahal's own hammer. For some reason, that unravelled Dwalin entirely. His breath had been rough but now he was weeping, tears hot in his eyes and turning very cold on his face. He shivered.

Bifur grunted, lifted Dwalin as if he weighed nothing at all. He set them down together on the steps, Dwalin's bound arm rested on Bifur's thigh, the rest of him leaned against Bifur's chest, and Bifur's arms wrapped his shoulders and held him close. The old warrior smelled of brandy and summer fruit. Dwalin cried and Bifur murmured along, not in language but in harmony. Eventually Dwalin shuddered to silence, his face buried in Bifur's beard. "I'm sorry," said Dwalin, half-muffled.

 _"Don't be,"_ Bifur answered quietly. _"Nothing is right, so you mourn what should have been."_

Dwalin thought he might start crying agin at that, but he didn't. His head cleared as he found his answer: "Never mind that. We defend what _is_ ," he said. Bifur nodded. Dwalin struggled a little against his armor, testing; it held secure. He nuzzled through Bifur's braided beard to his skin, bit down deliberately, sucked hard.

Bifur groaned, his throat vibrating in Dwalin's mouth. He lay his fingers in Dwalin's bare, bound-up palm. _Good soldier,_ he signed, using an old poetic form that might translate to _servant-at-arms_. The praise warmed Dwalin through again, and he pushed his free hand back under Bifur's shirt. This time he found a pap in the curls of Bifur's pelt, and rubbed his thumb across it. Bifur groaned again, arching into the touch. He clutched Dwalin's shoulders, and Dwalin murmured back.

 _Let me serve you,_ he signed, marking the words carefully on Bifur's chest. He pressed his open palm there, finding the heartbeat again and cherishing it. Then he dropped his hand to awkwardly undo Bifur's trousers. He leaned up for a kiss and opened his mouth, felt Mahal's apron moving similarly beneath his touch. Bifur groaned again and leaned back, used the axe-harness to guide Dwalin to kneel on the step beneath him. He wasn't rough about it, and it wasn't even awkward for Dwalin to move that way. He might have liked to have his other hand to lean on, but it was peculiarly intimate to be held as Bifur had arranged him, the axe-harness and knuckledusters conveying something like his shield-brother's embrace. If it meant he leaned in more heavily as he opened his mouth for Bifur's cock, that was no bad thing either. Dwalin slid the war-hammer carefully past his teeth, licked the gems to taste with tongue and stone-sense. Bifur thrust wildly into that, nearly knocking Dwalin back, then grabbed the harness to hold him steady. He rode out a half-dozen hard sucks, then used the harness to haul Dwalin bodily up upon him.

Bifur reached into Dwalin's pockets, and Dwalin had a dizzying vision of doing the same to Nori (he'd better have both the thief's hands, if he wanted to survive). He missed Oin's slick but recognized a vial of blade-oil, possibly by the whetstone wrapped alongside it. _"Want me to fuck you?"_ he asked, and Dwalin nodded. _"Here? Or -- "_

Dwalin was already struggling to open his own pants one-handed. Bifur laughed and helped. Dwalin ended up kneeling, bent forwards on his one free arm, with his trousers shoved down to his knees and his smalls loose above his hips. An oiled hand caressed him, not at the anvil but the hammer, stroking until Dwalin's cock felt as hard all over as any of the stones set into it. He ground back against Bifur, whose own hammer was still only a little damp with spit. _"Fuck me,"_ Dwalin echoed, Khuzdul shifting vowels like a song in his throat. Bifur worked more oil between them, practiced and steady as if he were actually caring for weaponry. When Dwalin pushed back again, Bifur held still and as a statue. Dwalin savored his own penetration, his senses expanding again: first and always the heat and pressure of beloved flesh, then the hard gleam of onyx, the spattering feel of obsidian, hot red of ruby, fierce red of garnet. As he took in Bifur's hammer entirely, for the first time he knew the strange, angular stone set in its base: an unpolished diamond, blued with boron. The stone-sense overtook him, ringing through Dwalin like a bell:

_the great granite mountain, threaded rich with life and gold -- the king the same, in his person an echo of Ererebor_  
_the primeval brilliance of the Arkenstone -- but he was blind, blind to it, blind without it, WHERE??? --_  


Bifur moved and Dwalin shattered. He was a black stone filled bright with faceted green; he was a tiger's-eye full of stars; he was copper alive with electricity. He was crying again and coming already, spilling out of himself like the lifeblood from a boar, and Bifur spilled life back into him. There was a roaring sound in Dwalin's ears, like a rockslide with a great music in it, or Khuzdul in the voice of Mahal. He almost understood it, even almost could answer it, but he was crying too hard. Strong arms held him tight, and there was skin and stone inside him, skin and stone kissing the back of his neck. Signs traced down his front from his neck to his belly: _Everything will be as it should be. I love you._

He might have fainted, or perhaps only fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes again, the sky was gray with pre-dawn light and low clouds weighty with snow.

Dwalin sat up. His arms were unbound and he was dressed again, his smallclothes wrapped a little differently than he would have done it himself. He was more than warm enough, an old heavy rug of some sort thrown over his warg-skin, and his mind was piercingly clear. Bifur stood at the ledge above, looking towards the south, Grasper and Keeper in his hands. _"The Men are coming,"_ he said without preamble. _"A dozen of them on horseback. They'll be at the Gate before noon."_

Dwalin came to his feet. "We have to get Thorin." They climbed back up and passed through the Little Gate, pulled the doors silently to, and fixed the crossbar closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i'm not sure how relevant this is, but i kind of want to post it alongside this story:
> 
> Stone (by Charles Simic)
> 
> Go inside a stone  
> That would be my way.  
> Let somebody else become a dove  
> Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth.  
> I am happy to be a stone.
> 
> From the outside the stone is a riddle:  
> No one knows how to answer it.  
> Yet within, it must be cool and quiet  
> Even though a cow steps on it full weight,  
> Even though a child throws it in a river;  
> The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed  
> To the river bottom  
> Where the fishes come to knock on it  
> And listen.
> 
> I have seen sparks fly out  
> When two stones are rubbed,  
> So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;  
> Perhaps there is a moon shining  
> From somewhere, as though behind a hill—  
> Just enough light to make out  
> The strange writings, the star-charts  
> On the inner walls.
> 
> from _What the Grass Says_ (Harcourt Inc., 1967)


	94. Chapter 94

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parleys. Dwalin does not enjoy them.

Gloin and Fili were on watch at the siege-wall. They had not yet seen the flags approaching from that vantage, but waited for it while Dwalin and Bifur roused the rest of the Company. Thorin was not in the dormitories or bedrooms, but Dwalin found him heavily asleep, half-buried in a pile of gold in the dragon's hoard. He was wrapped in Dori's ermine coat, and a raven crown lay askew on his head. Dwalin touched his shoulder gently, then shook him harder until Thorin roused.

"Have you found it?" the king asked, his voice childlike and dreamy.

Dwalin's brow clouded. He did not want to answer. A complete and honest reply seemed dangerous, and any other dishonorable. "Never mind finding anything," he said. "They found us. Elves and Men are coming up the valley. You must speak with them."

Thorin's face creased, uncertain and sad. "I do not have the Arkenstone."

"You don't need it." Dwalin put his arms under Thorin, pulled him to his feet in a clattering slide of gems and coins. "You're King under the Mountain. Go tell them."

Thorin nodded vaguely. Dori was coming towards them, carrying a cup of coffee on a golden tray. "My lords," he said, glaring sourly at Dwalin. "Come and eat." He gave Thorin the mug, guiding him gently by the other arm to the Children's Kitchen. Dwalin huffed and trailed after.

Breakfast was a tense affair. Bilbo was cooking and serving, as Bombur and his family went off to make final checks on their siege-wall. Dwalin could hardly bear the sight of the burglar. His stone-sense, however, would not let go: little Bilbo was a weighty presence, golden but heavier than real gold, dense with power and craft. Dwalin didn't like it at all. He couldn't quite tell if it was his stone-sense proper, or only his imagining what Thorin said he perceived. He also couldn't decide if it were better or worse that there was no shine of the Arkenstone, nor even any jade. Dwalin shoveled bacon and cram into his mouth mechanically and waited, the patience of a soldier before battle.

Bofur returned to say that all was in readiness at the Gate. Balin and Dori tidied Thorin's beard and braids, his coat and crown. Dwalin took the time to consult with Oin, who was old enough to possibly remember: how long would a raven take to summon Dain, how long for them to bring an army from the Iron Mountains, presuming they did so at all? It was almost enough to lose himself in tactics and consideration, but he followed Thorin and his escort to the Great Gate when they went. From the top, they could see the blue banner of the Lake and the Elvenking's green flying with it on the wind.

They were mounted on horses save for Thranduil on an elk, and every one of them armed with spears. Thorin hailed them in a loud voice: "Who are you that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain?"

Dwalin could have wept with relief to hear Thorin name himself so. But a tall Man rode forward, dark-haried and grim, and answered, "Hail, Thorin! Why do you hide like a thief in his hold? We are not yet foes, and we rejoice that you are alive beyond hope. We did not expect to find any living here! There is a matter now for parley and a council."

Dwalin doubted this, given the spears and the banners, but the Man's word was fair enough. "Who are you, and of what would you parley?" Thorin asked.

"I am Bard, and by my hand was the dragon slain and your treasure delivered." Dwalin's eyes widened. The dwarves had wounded Smaug, but if a Man had killed him, that was no small thing. But the Man was droning on, that he was descended from Girion, whom Dwalin vaguely remembered as the old Lord of Dale, and then worse: "In your hoard is mingled much of the wealth of his halls and town..." He ended with a kind of slantwise blaming of the dwarves for his people's "misery and sorrow, though doubtless undesigned." 

Thorin said something about Smaug's victims all being dead, and about repaying what the dwarves had been given in Lake-town, which seemed to Dwalin like little enough. They bickered on, largely about the appropriateness of armies appearing at Erebor, which was Dwalin's primary concern as well. Then Thorin mentioned that he wouldn't parley with the people of the Elvenking, who he remembered with "small kindness", which phrase nearly made Dwalin laugh. Thorin suggested that the Men return unarmed and without elves, and Dwalin rather hoped that would be the end of it. There was nothing to be gained here by fighting for anyone, except for Thranduil, he thought. The elves could feed themselves, and they liked treasures well enough.

But Bard claimed the Elvenking as "my friend", and said finally "We will give you time to repent your words. Gather your wisdom ere we return!" Then he and his company turned and departed in a flurry of hoofbeats. Thranduil's elk lead the charge, the green banner flying with the blue.

Thorin turned at once from the wall, dashing back into the heaps and hills of Smaug's hoard. Dwalin felt him go, felt the thread of gold in Thorin go as if he were being melted down into it. He would have followed, but he feared the Men's return in force. The mountain might shelter them, or the ruins of Dale might, but they had not enough food to share without starving. Perhaps the elves, whose forest domain was more nourishing than gold, meant the Men to purchase supplies for them with Erebor's wealth? Dwalin's heart hardened at the thought, and he posted Kili and Gloin as archers. They looked rather askance at one another, and Dwalin groaned internally. "You," he said to Fili, "go talk sense to your uncle." Perhaps seeing his heir might help Thorin remember what being king meant, and why.

It was not long after that the riders returned. A Man with a loud, carrying voice declaimed, "In the name of Esgaroth and the Forest, we speak unto Thorin Thrain's son Oakenshield, calling himself the King under the Mountain, and we bid him consider well the claims that have been urged, or be declared our foe. At the least he shall deliver one twelfth portion of the treasure unto Bard, as the dragon-slayer, and as the heir of Girion. From that portion Bard will himself contribute to the aid of Esgaroth; but if Thorin would have the friendship and honour of the lands about, as his sires had of old, then he will give also somewhat of his own for the comfort of the men of the Lake." Kili shot an arrow at the speaker. It hit his shield and stuck there quivering. '"Since such is your answer," cried the Man, "I declare the Mountain besieged. You shall not depart from it, until you call on your side for a truce and a parley. We will bear no weapons against you, but we leave you to your gold. You may eat that, if you will!"

"And what will you eat?" Gloin called down, but the messengers were departing. Dwalin wondered as well. 

Bilbo was on the parapet too, watching. Dwalin eyed the burglar narrowly. "The whole place still stinks of dragon," the hobbit grumbled to himself, "and it makes me sick. And cram is beginning simply to stick in my throat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Men's dialogue and Bilbo's are paraphrased from JRRTs text. Dwalin's economic speculations are my own. Why did the Men want gold, when they were refugees without a home? They apparently had no ongoing trade with the Iron Mountains, and it seems too late in the year for them to buy much to the south or west. That leaves the elves of Mirkwood as the only possible market, and it seems to explain why the elves came armed to the Mountain as well, ready to take Erebor by force if they could.


	95. Chapter 95

Balin was not pleased with the parley. "They say they won't bear weapons, while holding blades in hand. And the elves are with them, armed and armored and out of their realm. This will not end well."

Dwalin would have liked to lean on his brother for comfort, but Balin looked too grim for it. "What if we gave them the gold?" he asked. "You and I have a seventh share between us, and a seventh less a twelfth is..." he thought for a moment, then hazarded, "about a twentieth, is that right?""

Balin laughed. "Five eighty-fourths, lad, and still an unspeakable wealth. But I do not believe they will leave us alone for any price. They can't eat gold either. But Men are delicate to cold, and our mountain is warm and sheltering. Perhaps they think we have only the food they gave us?" His dark eyes went darker. "The elves have no such excuse, and their greed for treasure is great. So it always is with the Later People, who were not crafted themselves, and are ever jealous of our people's work."

They had been alone on the parapet, keeping the watch, but turned at Ori's quick step up the stairs. A raven perched on his arm, like a hawk waiting for the hunt. "This flew in," he said breathlessly, "but Oin's too deaf -- can you understand it, Master Balin?"

Balin and the raven were immediately deep in conversation, too quickly for Dwalin to make out much more than "armies" and "Dain" and "days". After they spoke, they bowed deeply to each other, and Balin took the bird into his own hands. "Ori, find someone and take our watch," he ordered, "Dwalin, wait for them, and meet us in the kitchen after." Dwalin nodded. There was little enough to see, the armed encampments flying banners nearby, the massed refugees and their campfires in the distance. Ori returned with Bofur, and Dwalin hurried back into the mountain. In the kitchen for the Children's Corridor, Bombur was all but sitting on Thorin and making him eat sliced ham. Balin had bought in chalks and slates, and he and the bird were drawing maps. Apparently Dain was coming, with an army five hundred strong. This news elated Dwalin, but Thorin seemed as much worried as relieved. "I still don't have the Arkenstone," he said hesitantly, and Balin groaned.

"Dain doesn't have it either, and he's only fourth after Kili regardless. You are the Durin King, Thorin, King under the Mountain. We may fight to hold Erebor, and Dain comes to our aid!"

"I hope he brought food," said Bombur, putting down cram by Thorin's meat and glaring until the king started eating it. "I can't feed five hundred soldiers no matter how I thin the soup, no more than I could feed all those Men." He sounded quite aggrieved.

Balin huffed. "I'm sure Dain knows how to supply his army."

Dwalin broke in. "What's their strategy then?" he asked. "Will they fight the armies, and hope the masses of Men surrender? Would they take them back to the Iron Hills?" Dain's kingdom was wealthier, at least, than his father Nain's had been.

"Like the hospitality Men showed us after Smaug," said a sudden, sour voice. Nori was at the door with ropes of emeralds in his hair. He dropped down on the bench beside Thorin, and started picking at the ham.

"Dain's people come for us," said Balin. "I daresay he regrets not sending anyone to our company, and wants no ill feeling from Erebor." He laughed abruptly. "I daresay he's surprised that we made it."

"We're all surprised," said Nori, helping himself to cram and putting strawberry preserves on it.

"I'm not," said Balin, and Thorin looked up at him. "The signs foretold our chance for the Mountain King's return." He winked at Thorin, who almost smiled. "I'm too old for any fools' errands," he added, "but the timing was right, and Thorin led us true."

Thorin looked both pleased and uncomfortable, and Dwalin was tentatively glad he was at least participating that much in the conversation. Their company was too small to be of great military significance, and Dwalin was in charge of defense if it came to that., But Thorin was their king, and they needed him.

"You'll still lead us, then?" Nori's voice was dry, and so was Dwalin's throat.

"Of course I will," said Thorin, sounding exactly like himself. And Dwalin could have kissed them both.


	96. Chapter 96

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note new tags.

"He doesn't have it anymore," Nori whispered to Dwalin two days later at breakfast. He indicated Bilbo with a twist of his chin, then went back to chewing his bacon. Dwalin studied at the hobbit, who mostly looked as if he had not slept well, dark under the eyes. Then he looked at Thorin, who was at least not gazing at the hobbit for once. His braids were fuzzy and uneven, and his eyes bloodshot. At least he wore clothes suitable for armor over, as Dwalin had ordered for everyone, and a circlet worked with an obsidian raven held his hair back from his brow. Dwalin grunted back to Nori. He did not want to have this conversation at all; he certainly did not want to have it at the table. He stood up, pulling Nori with him. Nori resisted at first, then followed along when Dwalin glared.

Aside for outposts among the treasure-piles and a few paths down to the mines, the company encampment was mostly just the old Children's Corridor. Dwalin had not spent much time there as a child himself, except with Thorin and Frerin and Dis, or sometimes in the classrooms for tutoring as befit an heir (albeit a fairly remote one) to Erebor's crown. But the rooms were still cheerful and cozy and relatively intact, and more than spacious enough for fourteen. Bombur and Balin had, between them, gotten the heat and the light and the plumbing all to work. And Dwalin still knew the "secret" natural passage that led from Dis' old bedroom (not presently in use by anyone) out to the exterior ledge she had called her "own eyrie". He did not take a lamp, trusting his stone-sense and his memory, and Nori followed unquestioning through the dark. The "eyrie" wasn't much -- a small cavern near the surface, big enough for half a dozen dwarflings or two grown ones, with a narrow crack that let on the open air of the mountainside. There, Dwalin deemed them to have privacy at least, and there were questions he had to ask. "Where is it then?" he demanded. His voice came out far too loud, hurting his own ears in the confined space.

"I don't know, how would I know?" Nori asked. He sounded frightened, and Dwalin sighed. He sat down, tugging at Nori's hand until the smaller dwarf followed, tugging again until Nori was close beside him. Dwalin leaned over, resting an arm over Nori's shoulders, clasping his beloved's upper arm. He had not intended to make the question part of an interrogation, but he still couldn't blame Nori for taking it that way, and would need to choose his words and actions with more care. Only he was so tired, and so worn with worry.

"I only hoped," said Dwalin, softening his voice. "He didn't give it to Thorin, though, I'm sure of that. What makes you say he doesn't have it?"

Nori was silent before answering, but his long cool fingers touched the back of Dwalin's hand. "Just... he looks like the job's done," he said. "Holding goods is hard. It's dangerous, and there's no profit. I don't know if Bilbo loves that stone like a dwarf could, but I'd wager that he did -- he'd have lifted it no matter what, just because he saw it. But love doesn't make you safe, and he looks quiet now."

Dwalin wondered if that was cause or effect of Thorin's relative indifference. All this time he had wanted to explain the situation to his leader, and every time held his tongue: who knew how their troubled king might react? Similarly, he had considered approaching the burglar, and had not -- a free confession or an actual delivery of the Arkenstone returned might have earned Bilbo something between gratitude and mercy, but Dwalin could not elicit those by force. Apparently his years of prosecuting theft were done. He laughed at himself, hollowly, and in the darkness Nori wound their fingers together. But at that moment the wind carried the sound of hoofbeats in through the crack in the cavern, and he rose and they returned swiftly to the Gate.

Fili was on watch with Bifur, both with weapons in hand as yet another small group of mounted Men rode towards them. Dwalin dispatched Nori to round up everyone else, Bilbo included. The Men still carried pennants, swords, and spears, which were little enough threat towards the crenellated wall. Balin came up the steps and groaned aloud. This was no more peaceful a delegation; what new tactic could the Men have?

They did not have long to wonder. A hooded figure atop a gray horse silently lifted one hand, and the loose sleeve fell away to reveal the Arkenstone, a white light brighter and more beautiful than the day.

Everyone was stunned. Dwalin, seeing it again in a foreign hand, thought he might actually burst into tears. But it was Fili, who had never seen the Arkenstone in his life, who found the voice to call out, "How came you by the heirloom of our house?" His voice was loud and clear, angry but not without dignity. "That stone belongs to our King!"

"We are not thieves," called Bard's familiar voice, and Nori half-laughed. "Your own we will give back in return for our own."

"How came you by it?" That was Thorin, and for all that they were all shouting, his voice was far too loud, almost a scream.

"I gave it to them," said Bilbo, a small squeak by the wall. Thorin pounced upon him at once, lifting him with a hand on each shoulder until they were face-to-face. Tears flowed unheeded from Thorin's eyes.

"You. You." Thorin said it like a chant, as if he had no other words. He shook the hobbit once, quite hard, and Bilbo squeaked again. Then Thorin managed, "Curse Tharkun for his choice of you, betrayer! I should throw you to the rocks!"

The figure with the Arkenstone threw his hood aside, and it was the wizard, standing tall in his stirrups. "Curse me if you will, Thorin," he said. "If you don't like my Burglar, please don't damage him. Put him down, and listen first to what he has to say!"

Thorin set Bilbo down, kneeling in front of him behind the wall. "Are you all in league against me?" he asked, of Bilbo or Gandalf or the world at large.

"Dear me! Dear me!" said Bilbo. "I am sure this is all very uncomfortable. You may remember saying that I might choose my own fourteenth share? Perhaps I took it too literally -- I have been told that dwarves are sometimes politer in word than in deed. The time was, all the same, when you seemed to think that I had been of some service. Is this ail the service of you and your family that I was promised, Thorin?" He paused, and they gazed at each other. Thorin was silent, and Bilbo harrumphed. "Take it that I have disposed of my share as I wished, and let it go at that!" But there were tears on his face as well.

Fili had taken over the parley again, promising one-twelfth of the gold and silver and withholding the jewels, on the return of the Arkenstone. That was likely all of his personal share, royal status notwithstanding, but he seemed not to care about it at all. Meanwhile Dwalin and Nori, respectively, pulled Thorin and Bilbo apart. Bofur and Bombur had arranged a rope sling for the hobbit, and he was lowered outside the wall without ceremony. The wind lifted his coat, revealing the jacket of mithril mail beneath. Thorin muttered direly, and Dwalin along with him, outrage mingled with pity.

Kili had come up on Thorin's other side and was supporting him. The king seemed emptied of strength or will. He might have been stunned by the sight of the Arkenstone, or by Bilbo's betrayal, or both. The Men clattered away with the wizard, the burglar, and the stone. The dwarves clustered around their king, speaking little, until a raven landed nearby.

Balin had dispatched the bird to Dain's army, and it brought a message in return. "Do not yield to threats and traitors," it said. "Five hundred will march through the night, and more will leave for Erebor at dawn. Defend the Kingdom and the heritage of Dwarves!"

"And so we shall, my lads," said Balin, voice grim with determination. Fili and Kili exchanged a long look over Thorin's head, then each heir took one of his hands. But the king's face was still wet as they began to draw up maps and make new plans to discuss tactics with Dain, and his head bowed beneath the raven crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some each of Bilbo, Gandalf, and Thorin's speeches lifted from JRRT's text.


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh look -- more smut! now with additional information about dwarf genitalia and reproduction.

The ravens were busy all day and into night, when they became allied with great silent owls. Dwalin stayed up on the wall, talking quietly with them, exchanging diagrams and notes with Dain and his generals. Dwalin's own company would most likely be doing nothing but staying where they were. They were too few to be of military significance, given the sizes of the armies in wait, not to mention the mass of refugees. If they became desperate enough, no doubt either Men or elves could scale the wall and bring them down, though there would be considerable loss of life. But as a placeholder, and as Erebor's rightful heirs, their -- Thorin's at least -- presence mattered beyond measure.

Dori brought the remaining dragon-arrows to the top of the siege-wall, and Dwalin scheduled Thorin, Kili, Gloin, and himself to fire them at need. Bombur and Balin went to investigate the Lion Gate, in case it might be reopened secretly; they reported back that it could, but excavation would take several days. Oin took Ori to the old Library, in case useful maps or other documents might be unearthed. Fili, working alone, filled up twenty chests with finely-worked metal. "I'd be a poor excuse for a diplomat if I wasn't prepared to make good," he explained, standing straight before his arms-master's glower. "It's all my share. I'll take no more from the gems."

Dwalin huffed. "If I thought the Men would honor it, I'd pay them off myself," he replied. "Don't think on it. If we survive, if --" He choked unexpectedly. He'd apparently somehow thought them past asking that question, which was in itself bewildering.

Fili smiled, a comrade's easy grin, and came to clap Dwalin's shoulder. "I'm not worried. You've never let me want for anything in my life." If his fingers drew a little further up Dwalin's neck than might have been usual, his smile only widened a little before he dropped them. He went down the stairs whistling out-of-tune, and went off not towards the Children's Corridor but rather back to the Great Hall.

By midnight or so there was nothing more to do. The raven with the best Westron said to Dwalin, "Owls watch better than you. We fly inside with news. Go rest!" before hopping up his forearm and tweaking at his ear-cuff. Dwalin laughed. He was both too tired and too keyed up to argue. He took off the ornament, and the bird took it with a thoughtful gaze. "Go," it repeated, and Dwalin bowed and went.

The Children's Corridor was strikingly empty, though there was cram on the table and porridge warm in the hearth. Dwalin ate, and for a little while it was comforting to be alone in that low-ceilinged kitchen, as if he were a child with his cousins asleep down the hall. Then, as he poured himself wine, it was suddenly disquieting. Where were all the Company? He picked up his cup and went in search.

A small section of the Great Hall, beneath a turn of the staircase, had been transformed. It was a little like one of their campsites on the road, with red and golden oil-lanterns in place of wood-fueled watchfires, and also like some rooms of great luxury Dwalin remembered from Erebor of old. Thick furs had been piled over some of the glittering heaps of precious metals and gems. The brightest lights lit Thorin, who knelt on a muskrat blanket from Lake-town. He stroked a soft melody from a golden harp, and he was naked save for gold-and-diamond clasps in his hair and a raven crown. Next to him was Nori, also (astonishingly) nude, accompanying him with a sweet-sounding mithril-bright flute, and Bofur wearing Dori's ermine cloak and playing descants on an ancient clarinet. The other dwarves reclined in small, shadowy groups around them, talking and drinking and laughing. On the highest heap, piled thick with red-and-white fox furs, Bifur lay with his head in Bombur's lap and Ori curled up at his side. He caught Dwalin's eye on the steps and signed, lazy and imperious, _Come here._

Dwalin went, sliding on the coins. Bifur's green eyes gleamed, holding his all the way. He propped himself up against his cousin's belly, black-and-white hair curling in contrast over Bombur's fiery pelt and thick braid. Ori stirred and mumbled, sat up, smiled warmly. "Mister Dwalin," he said, and giggled.

Dwalin hardly heard him. He was staring at Bifur. He had never in his life seen a dwarf thus, though he knew what he saw from beautiful old poetry and occasional quiet talk. Bifur had kindled.

Mahal's apron was drawn back, but Bifur's hammer was neither hard nor soft. It spread in a round, jewel-studded hillock low on his belly. Beneath that, his forge -- ordinarily no more than a fold in the flesh -- was elongated, the edges swelled out and flushed as red as garnets, gleaming in the lamplight. Dwalin hurried the last steps, stopped to kneel by Bifur's feet. It was not the right thing to say, but his voice came unbidden: "How?!"

Bifur laughed, deep bells ringing, and reached for Dwalin's empty hand. _In my first life,_ he signed on the palm, _I asked my wife that. She said how not, and I say the same._ He paused, stroking Dwalin's hand with a gentle thumb; Dwalin shivered. _She died at Azanulzibar, and our sons, and myself._ Bifur sat up further, leaned in closer, wrapping strong arms around Dwalin's neck until he stilled. _Now I live again,_ he signed, his fingers a whispering caress at the back of Dwalin's neck. _I am sated with food, I lie upon riches, I am safe beneath mountain stone. Our Maker's fire burns in me!_

Dwalin laughed back, incredulous and enchanted. "There are armies at our gates!"

 _There are always armies,_ Bifur answered, _always dangers. Yet I guided you safe through through the nightmare forest, and we brought down meat in winter. All here are my allies, my loves, my kin, my friends. I live again, and Mahal willing, may yet bring new life into this old world._ He gripped Dwalin's shoulders, reached up to tug on Grasper and Keeper, slid his hands down Dwalin's arms. Then he pulled back and signed, large enough for all to see: _Will you forge with me, Dwalin my soldier, my shield-brother, my beloved?_

"How not...?" Dwalin echoed back, captivated. He leaned forward, and Ori caught the wine-cup before it spilled. Dwalin looked up guiltily, but Ori was drinking, brown eyes merry over the rim.

Bifur caught Dwalin's head and pulled him into a kiss, slow, hard, and entirely consuming. Bifur tasted different, sweeter, and his mouth was feverishly hot. His voice rumbled, and Dwalin felt it move through his body like an earthquake. Then the sliding coins really did shift beneath the furs; there were voices Dwalin did not parse through the roaring of his blood. Then familiar hands were on his back, slipping his axes free, and Thorin's spoke soft in his ear. "You do not need these."

Dwalin groaned an agreement, reassured by the voice of his king. Every touch, every sound, was strong and warm and familiar, and his stone-sense was alight with Bifur's faceted greens. Even Thorin was as he should be -- gold and granite and infinitely familiar. (Wherever Ori had gone, Dwalin did not miss him, or even the wine.) This moment was perfect in its way, safe in a life that might count little enough of protection. He went almost still, basking in Bifur's heat as Thorin stripped him of weapons, warg-skin, clothes.

Dwalin was grateful for that steady touch. Skin on skin, Bifur's heat was overwhelming, and his pelt as soft as thistledown. Dwalin buried his face in Bifur's neck, mindlessly nuzzling and nipping, that sweetness filling his mouth and nose and mind. Thorin stroked Dwalin's spine, and Dwalin reached out blindly, gathering a fistful of Thorin's silken hair. That held him like an anchor as he seemed to fall endlessly into Bifur's body, soft beneath him, slick beneath his rutting cock. Thorin's hand -- bare, for once, of any ornament save his own nails and callouses -- reached down, and guided Dwalin inside.

Bifur roared, locking onto Dwalin with all his limbs, and Dwalin answered as he thrust back. Bifur's forge was so _wet_ , slicker than a tongue, grasping with more greed than any hand. The wetness slicked up across Dwalin's body as he moved, painting him like lines of fire. For a long, strange time he felt no urgency to do more than pound his body into Bifur's, single-minded and patient as Mahal himself wielding his hammer. One of Thorin's hands gripped his hip, riding him, and Thorin was crooning, almost singing, praise and encouragement and both their names, over and over. Then Bifur's mouth closed over Thorin's with a wordless, musical cry. His forge clasped Dwalin with great strength, clinging to him, the jeweled mound driving up into Dwalin's underbelly. Bifur pulled Dwalin into the kiss and he came, still pounding, his spending pulled from him like molten metal drawn out into thin wire. When he had no more to give he collapsed, fell into the thistledown heat, one hand still knotted hard into silk.

They lay together for a long time, wordless, breath still coming loud. Then Bombur was kneeling beside them, and Thorin moved first. He took the pitcher of honeyed water, held it to Bifur's lips as he drank greedily. Dwalin struggled to sit up, and as he drank he watched Bifur sign on Thorin's skin: _Thank you for holding me, my king. Thank you for bringing me safely home._

 _You honor me,_ signed Thorin back, very slowly. _This is why we quested; this is all I wanted. Thank you for following me._

Dwalin swallowed hard, then crushed them both into his arms. "There, there," said Bombur, from somewhere above. "Wait on a moment, I'll bring you wine as well, and something sweet." The gold beneath the furs shifted again as his great weight moved away, and Dwalin lay down again without letting Thorin or Bifur go. When he returned, he had the promised refreshments on a tray, and the younger brothers Ri with him as well. Nori pulled gently at Dwalin's beard, and everyone sat together in companionable quiet for awhile, eating and drinking. Bofur's clarinet still played, accompanied now by a single violin.

Eventually Nori took Dwalin's hand and led him away, axes and other impedimentia balanced with a thief's precision in his other arm. Dwalin moved in a daze. They went only about a dozen yards, to a little burrow in the gold, lined with more soft furs and a couple of blankets from Lake-town. Nori lay Dwalin down, took out a comb, and began gently to untangle his hair. "You're braver than I am," he said softly, after awhile. "I could only give him my mouth and my hands. But I understand how you love him, now. He does remind me of Eada, and somehow also of you."

Dwalin opened his eyes at that speech, saw Nori's face somehow more open, more at peace, than he ever had before. He pulled the small figure close, wrapping himself around Nori's lithe, beloved shape. The music wound on, and he must have slept deeply. When he woke, the Great Hall was lit with the grey light before dawn from the lenses above, and the air above them was whirling full of wings.

 _"To arms, and armored!"_ cried the ravens, in the shared speech, and again in Khuzdul and in Westron. _"Another army comes, of orcs and evil, led by bats in flight. Rise and do battle, dwarves of Erebor! For all must oppose them, or all shall be lost!"_ The owls stooped and climbed in silence, picking through the treasure-heaps for heavy golden knives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dori and Balin are actually in the Children's Corridor this entire chapter, hiding in a little secret room that Dwalin didn't know about, muffling each other from the time he comes in until he leaves. Just so you know!
> 
> Some references in here to Bifur's autobiographical perspective, as discussed at more length in one of the Layers sides here: archiveofourown.org/works/3395462
> 
> Bifur's occasion for potentially-reproductive sex in this context is not exactly typical for dwarves. Given his personal history, he's grown rather past convention. I hope his own explanation of how he feels makes sense to y'all!
> 
> I had a rather funny (I thought) scene explaining how Bofur came to be wearing Dori's furs, but have left it out for POV reasons. Maybe I'll put it in a side-story somewhere?
> 
> I have taken a line not PJ's nor entirely JRRT's wrt the last of the Dwarf Rings of Power (see Layers chapter 77). In this scene, Thorin has taken off his rings specifically because Bifur prefers to be touched with bare hands right now.


	98. Chapter 98

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOLY COW I'M FINALLY UPDATING THIS THING.
> 
> i had to go off and write young!dworin to prepare myself. i am not ashamed.
> 
> BUT:
> 
> The Battle of Five Armies starts here. 
> 
> There will be deaths. There will be fix-its, using all original canon parts -- no, I don't know why I need to do it this way either; I just do. Not everything will be fixed, and not everything that's fixed will work like it did before it broke.
> 
> Read the tags. You were warned.

There were no armies on the ground outside the Great Gate. The refugee camp lay quiet as a sleeping animal. Dwalin asked the raven with the best Westron to go there, to advise them to flee or make whatever defense they could -- then tried to put them out of his mind, because he had no help to spare. But if the Men's army was away, engaging Dain's -- he dispatched another raven to his cousin, then found paper and pen, drew a map, and wrote a note. "Find Tharkun, and tell him everything," he told a bird, tying the map to its leg. No doubt the wizard had his own ways of gathering intelligence, and Dwalin felt no love for him. But the Grey Walker had the Men's alliance, and the elves', and perhaps he could turn them against the coming of evil.

For the moment, all the fighting was further south and high in the air. Dwalin found a pair of binoculars and watched as the ravens and the owls engaged the bats. Their battle looked like a stormcloud, black and grey and swirling in upon itself, with the flash of sunrise on knives in place of lightning. Dark shapes fell like rain, but still the winged regiment approached. They avoided the refugees, advancing on the Great Gate. The Company watched from the siege-wall, even Thorin. All were outfitted for battle, but Dwalin felt like a token, helpless as a chess-piece. Thorin's Quest would come to nothing if elves and Men took the mountain, and perhaps (he had to admit) even if it were conquered by Dain. But much more would be lost if Erebor fell to orcs and goblins, and Dwalin could see their army marching over the horizon.

Kili sent the first strike, before Dwalin could have seen anything without the magnifying lenses -- a flaming arrow into a tight-formed mass of leathery wings. It exploded on contact, and Dwalin's eyes were dazzled by the glare. Their high-pitched cries as they fell were the first Dwalin heard of the battle. As they came closer, he could hear ravens -- cursing their foes and encouraging one another, in half a dozen languages. Meanwhile the owls fought in silence, climbing to great heights, falling with knives in their claws and followed by raining blood. Kili sent arrows as fast as he could aim them, and when they came a little closer, Ori's sling and Fili's bow joined in. But the battle was largely fought on the wing, and the friends of Erebor were victorious. Not a single bat lived to enter the mountain.

Bombur and Bofur set up food and water for the returning birds, and Oin and Bifur saw to their wounds. In this brief respite, Dwalin saw that his messages had been heeded. The refugee-camp came alive with activity, and its people fled towards the ruins of Dale. He wished them safe -- perhaps some of Dale's infrastructure was preserved as well as Erebor's, so the people could at least hide and shelter there.

Meanwhile, all the dwarves were restless. Some of the still-flying ravens helped Balin and Dwalin exchange notes with Dain and his generals. A second evil army had come from the north. Wargs ran baying before them, and the Pale Orc rode at its head. At this news, a shiver of dread passed through the company -- some remembering the death of old King Thror, all recalling the terrible night when the trees were set aflame. All three armies of Free People were turned against it. If they survived, another battle awaited them to the south. The generals discussed the value of a retreat -- pressing the two armies of evil together in front of the Great Gate, and attempting to draw aside enough to flank them. A score of birds -- ravens, thrushes, and now even kestrels -- flew off to observe from on high, and all was quiet in Erebor as battle raged around them.

Nori spoke into the silence. "I am no strong fighter," he said, "and I'll leave the mountain now. I'm your thief," his eyes rested first on Dwalin, then longer on Thorin, "and the Arkenstone will be yours again, no matter whose army claims what victory." He darted off as quick as he had ever fled from the Guard. He slipped into the thief-passage before anyone could stop him or even say another word. Dwalin's jaw hung open, too startled even to gasp.

Ori tried to follow, but Bombur held him back. "Don't," said the architect sadly, "it really is a thief-tunnel! Unless you've been apprenticing with your brother, you'll bring it down around your head." Dori clamped his hand onto Ori's shoulder at that, and Ori's mouth thinned into a hard line. He moved back, shaking his head, fury in his eyes.

"Curse the Arkenstone!" he shouted. "Why does anyone even care?" He glared at Thorin and the king looked down. "We followed you half-way across Middle-earth," Ori went on, his voice breaking high with anger. "And you brought us to Erebor, and you shot the dragon. Fili will give all his share of treasure to the Men, if it will help us keep it in peace. But Thorin," and Dwalin realized this was the first time the young scribe had addressed their leader by name, "you aren't king because of the Arkenstone or anything else. You're our king because you inspired us, and you lead us, and you made us part of realizing our people's dream." He sighed, shaking his head, apparently out of steam. "We're your people, Thorin," he added in a softer tone. "That's all."

Dwalin could not bear to watch the argument, and turned back to looking over the parapet. He saw Nori steal away without so much as a glance behind, and sent a prayer after him, as he dared not call out. He reached out with his stone-sense, and found the copper, tarnished but still electric, hot as a penny in his mouth. He held it there, savoring it like a taste, even after the thief faded into the grey morning landscape. Thorin was staring at him now, and half of the rest, as the others looked at their hands or feet or the great carvings of the Gate. "Don't look to me," he said testily. "I hope he's run for his life. Curse the Arkenstone, Thorin, you were my king long before you ever thought to claim it."

Shocked silence received his words, though Ori turned a brilliant smile of gratitude upon him. Finally Thorin spoke. "I cannot," he said, his voice low but clear, "hide inside the mountain while others die for Erebor. Or even," he added, his voice undefended and small, "for the Arkenstone."

"Nor I," and "No more can I," said Fili and Kili, stoutly and simultaneously, then turned to stare at each other as if this were somehow unexpected. Dwalin laughed, and so did Gloin.

"All right," said Dwalin. It might have been a death-wish, but his own heart lit on fire for battle. "We know what the armies plan. What shall the lot of us do?"

Bombur spoke up, detailing more features of his siege-wall. It would tumble outside -- a tremendous avalanche -- if a certain obsidian keystone was shattered, and Bofur had the mattock and the strength to do it. If the battle reached the Great Gate, and the enemies came close enough, they might be able to down hundreds of them with that single blow. After that, the dwarves could join the fighting, and there were none among them who were not fighters anymore. (Dwalin chided Nori in his head; certainly the lad could fight. Though it could not be argued that his thievery was more developed. But which was the better aim: to retrieve a treasure, or to fight against evil? Suddenly and devoutly, he hoped that Nori would never fight. He could steal the stone or not. If Erebor fell, he could try living among Men again; he could be a locksmith or a thief, he could take a woman lover. As long as he survived, Dwalin would only be glad.)

Balin allowed as to some memories of old defenses in Erebor's northern reaches -- gas-chimneys that could release gouts of smoke or fire, to confound or damage their enemies. A quarrel broke out among them over whether those flames could also be turned against elves or Men -- Gloin reckoned they also burned easily enough, and Dori agreed. But Kili objected, "It is not in my blood to kill Free People in a battle with the servants of evil," he cried. "Are we like Thranduil, to care only for our own kind in all of Middle-earth?"

No one had an answer for that, and Dwalin heard an echo of Galion's voice outside his cell in Thranduil's dungeons: _you are here to protect you from spiders, and your lack of preparation, caution, and skill_. Indeed they might never have made it out of Mirkwood if not for the elves' intervention. "Not against Free People," he said, and Kili shot him a grateful look as Gloin subsided. "Balin, if you can find a map, we'll show it to the ravens so they can give us warning of the orcs' movements." Balin went, leading Ori to the library, and Thorin, Bombur, and Bofur to search for the gas-lines.

Gloin and Oin went down the stairs as well. Gloin was in the lead, and Oin was grumbling about he could no more prepare remedies for an army than Bombur could thin the soup to feed one. Gloin said that was no excuse not to make as much as he could, and Gloin would himself ransack the old infirmary. Oin responded that "ransack" would be the right word if his little brother went alone, and their bickering echoed incomprehensibly as they crossed the gold-drowned chamber, then died away as they went into rock.

Fili and Kili were still side-by-side on the battlements, weapons between them, not quite touching. Their eyes were locked, and Dwalin felt them again as Thorin said he did: like earthquakes, everything moving, surface rock tumbling away and the hidden heat of the understory revealed. But Kili said softly, "We should sharpen our swords as well, unless you want to find a higher perch for shooting when the wall comes down?"

Fili considered this, and replied just as evenly, "I suspect the orcs will be helmed and shielded, and we'll kill more of them hand-to-hand." Then they smiled at each other, identically fierce and feral. The earthquakes danced, exchanging lines of heat and weight, forming a new shape to their private country. Dwalin looked away, felt again for the copper-penny taste, now deep in the back of his throat. He coughed to clear it, and Bifur caught his eye.

 _Let's make peace with Dori,_ the old warrior signed. _He's half dead of worry, and he wants to blame us._

Dwalin sighed and nodded. But he let Bifur approach their porter, who was idly casting stones into the River Running -- big stones, left over from the construction, any of which might weigh almost as much as Dwalin himself. Bifur lay his spear at Dori's armored feet, and began to speak in earnest if peculiarly-pronounced Khuzdul, and Dwalin came and knelt beside him to translate. "You are the elder brother, the nursing-brother, to those for whom we've sworn to lay down our lives. We owe you a debt beyond price, for raising them to be honorable dwarves despite all difficulty. We honor you, and we swear we will try to protect them as you have protected them, and to offer them love and respect as you have done."

It was not a speech Dwalin could have made by himself, but Bifur's heartfelt words pulled the truth out through his own rough voice. When he finished, Dori's eyes were bright with tears, and he knelt down beside them. An impossibly strong arm wrapped around each, and the warriors were pulled close to Dori's lavender-scented body. The fine silk of his beard brushed Dwalin's scalp, followed by a hot tear.

"My poor lads," said Dori, and as he hugged them close, it was clear he meant Dwalin and Bifur as well as his own brothers. "Let's only hope to survive this. Mountain or no mountain, treasure or no treasure -- if we have love among us, that will be enough." He paused, then laughed rather than sobbing. "And don't underestimate my Nori. He may not steal the Arkenstone, wherever it's got to, but he's stolen all of us once, and I wouldn't be surprised if he did it again."

Then Dwalin was weeping too, in great racking sobs, and Dori and Bifur both cradled him, murmuring comfort through their own tears. And so they were kneeling together at the top of the wall when Thorin raced back up the stairs, followed closely by the rest of the Company. "Look out," said Thorin, and they untangled themselves and did.

The roots of the mountain -- the southern one towards the Little Gate, and the southwest one that bracketed the other side of the River Running -- were spilling over with orcs, crawling sidewise like crabs across the naked, icy rocks. Beyond them were the Free People's armies, banners still flying, herding them down. And straight up from the south came a horde of spiders -- larger than the ones in Mirkwood, but clearly of the same form -- chittering almost too high to hear, and making straight for the Great Gate.

Every bit of it was horrifying, a nightmare. But Thorin Oakenshield glowed with a golden light, strong as granite. "Come down," he told them, and everyone descended; "Roac," he added to a raven, "go aloft, and cry us the word."

They huddled behind the wall until the spiders' chitter became a shrieking roar. Dwalin could hear and feel the touch of their feet grasping the stone, their palps feeling over and tasting it. It nauseated him, but he had felt that way in many battles, and he swallowed hard and dropped his axes into his hands. Roac shrieked "NOW" and Bifur swung his mattock hard.

The wall fell, slowly at first, buckling from the bottom. Then the top slid forwards in a rush. Dwalin could have sworn he saw eight gleaming black eyes looming over the battlements before they fell backwards, and the whole structure demolished itself, and scores upon scores of great spiders screamed and died beneath.

"Follow me," said Thorin, in the voice of a king. He ran lightly over the broken stones, a sword in each hand. "Khazad ai-menu!" went the roar through the company as they ran after him and began in earnest to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG the Bo5A makes NO SENSE IN ANY CANON. (like, consider: i can't even work out the numbers of armies to equal five. elves, men, dwarves, eagles; that's four. only one army of bad guys? one of orcs/goblins, one of wolves? one from the north and one from the south? that's what it looks like in the movies, anyway. meanwhile what's going on with the refugees? do thorin &c. count as a separate army? what about the bats?? is gandalf an army? is beorn?? seems like we have maybe six or seven armies here at least, or up to like ten???? maybe gandalf, the men, and the elves are one army, that'll cut it down....
> 
> (never mind, it's just *called* that; i'ma let it be.)
> 
> sweet mahal help me i just tried to make stuff up that made sense.


	99. Chapter 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle. 
> 
> It's horrible.
> 
> Death with mentioned damage. Healer ethics. Please read the tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for slow updates. not to harp on real life, but my mom's soon to have a difficult heart surgery, my favorite cousin's been diagnosed with lung cancer, and my psychopharmacologist moved to delaware.
> 
> the battle, deaths, and fix-its will occupy several short successive chapters. i will continue to warn about them in summaries and notes. please bear with me; i'm hoping to get this all out relatively soon, by writing in these little chunks.

Dwalin fought in terror and joy and unconsciously brutal efficiency. His axes rose and fell, black blood flying like ink splattering on the ground. When he encountered a better-armored group of orcs he swapped them for his war-hammer, which slammed down of its weight and smashed whatever it struck. He was back-to-back with Thorin until Fili crowded him out, then side-by-side with Balin. Every dwarf fighting in the company was like his oldest ally, another self, his bright reflection as the shadow crumpled and fell before them.

It was tiring and timeless. Sometimes he thought of Azanulzibar, but mostly of nothing but the enemy falling before him and those he protected beside and behind. The stone-sense served as a kind of map; here was Bombur in a whirlwind of cinnabar, there was Oin in a ceaselessly rising platinum wave. The enemy -- the orcs, the wargs, every evil creature -- was a blank emptiness, a void in the world. But their weapons and armor were steel, obsidian, iron, and stone. Dwalin had been a fighter for more than a hundred years, but now he fought as if he were suddenly seeing after a century of blindness. He was never hit, and whatever he struck, he killed.

Then a catapult fired from behind the enemy line. Boulders and shrapnel fell like thunder and rain, and Fili was crushed and killed.

Dwalin's whole world went blank. Something hard-faceted and amber-soft was gone, and nothing could fill that gap. He could hear, faintly, the cries of people and birds, the grinding gears of enemy war-machines on frozen ground. His hammer still moved as if of its own mind. He choked, the coppery taste of a penny stuck in his throat. And kept fighting.

He came back to his senses by that very stone. One of Fili's short swords was half-crushed at its edge, as if he had fought back and lost. Three-quarters of the corpse was still visible, and a woman of Men was shoving at the stone with all her small might. She wore no armor but a kite-shaped shield slung across her back, and she could no more have moved the thing than Dwalin could push over the Lonely Mountain. He shifted his hammer to one hand and picked her up with the other.

"No!" she cried, weeping and furious, and kicked Dwalin in the belly hard enough for him to feel it through his armor. He looked at her, almost surprised. She had brown hair and brown eyes, both a little lighter than Kili's, and he recognized her.

"Master Sigrid," he said, but did not put her down. He walked back towards the Great Gate; perhaps she might be hidden among the stones. That battlefield was no place for an unarmed Man.

"Yes, you, you --" she kicked him again, possibly because she didn't know his name. "Put me down."

Dwalin laughed. He was almost weeping, too. "Why?" he said. "Fili's dead. You saved his brother once, but this one's gone." She only looked at him, but he suddenly understood the bottomless depth of her grief. He would meet Fili again himself, when they joined Mahal to build the world anew. But Men had no such future, and if a dwarf she tended died, he would be lost to her forever. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to stroke Sigrid's hair, and he wanted to get back to the battle. He kept walking.

"Oh," she said after a minute. "I didn't know... I thought dwarves couldn't be killed by stone."

Dwalin did laugh then. "No. Stone loves us like a brother, but a catapult throws to kill."

"Let me up," said Sigrid, but Dwalin shook his head.

"No. You'll die too."

"I might. But I won't stop. I splinted three wounded Men and got them off the field, before the orcs cut me off." She gestured towards the Little Gate, and the mass of orcs crawling down its side, pursued by a line of Mannish infantry and backed by green-bannered Elven archers. "I'm a healer," she added desperately. "More will die if I'm not there."

Dwalin set her down. Together, and nearly of a speed, they ran back into battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, really hate this part of the tale.
> 
> before i could write it i went off and wrote another layers side story, e-rated young-dworin featuring hobbits and festivities and fireworks, called "The King of Me", to make myself feel better basically. if you could use some of the same, it's over here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4328334/chapters/9815403


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More battle. More suck. Gore. Fixes not yet.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: DAMAGE TO CHARACTER'S EYES. GORE.

The battle lines had changed. Orcs were now spilling over the Lonely Mountain's roots from two directions, pursued on one side by dwarves and on the other by elves and Men. The sun dimmed towards the horizon, baleful through the overcat. Sigrid slipped away towards an elf who lay alone and bleeding on bare ground, its voice a unceasing keen of pain. Dwalin strode into the thickest knot of fighting, axes again for close quarters, back-to-back with Bofur and Bombur. Two minutes later all the orcs that had surrounded them were dead. Dwalin looked for Thorin, and saw his king climbing up Ravenhill, off the path but leaping from rock to rock, agile as a goat. Dain Ironfoot stood on the hilltop. Beside him was the cooling corpse of a beast so huge and grandly caparisoned that it took Dwalin some time to recognize it as a boar. Before him was an enormous orc, skin pallid as the one who Dain had killed at Azanulzibar and armed with a mace on a chain. A half-dozen orcs clustered nearby, apparently only watching. The pale one had the reach against Dain's axe, and Dwalin could feel Dain's pain as he tried to balance and fight on the icy slope, like rust turning iron weak and thin.

Thorin slowed to a crawl as he neared the skirmish, fingers and toes jammed into cracks in the stone. The pale orc battered Dain, half toppling him onto the boar's dead body. The king screamed in pain and rage, fell back further, and kicked his iron foot up into the enemy's belly. The orc bellowed back and fell forwards, and Thorin struck.

He leapt from his hiding-place like a startled deer. Sword first, he fell upon the pallid creature from behind, and his blade went home between its helmet and shoulder. If it wore a gorget, it was no match for Erebor's steel and Thorin's strength. It was half beheaded at that first blow, and then the other orcs were upon them.

Dwalin ran as fast as he could, but Ravenhill was tall and steep, and when he broke to the top the battle was ended. All the orcs were dead, the pale one painted black with their blood and its own. Dain's face was bitter and fierce, and he had dragged Thorin to rest against the boar. Thorin's blood was red, and ran freely from a clutch of deep punctures around and through his eyes, spilling thickly through his shorn beard. Dwalin collapsed beside him. Granite was fraying into sand, gold dimming like a fire burning out. "Malkhuh," Dwalin whispered, or wept, "men lananubukhs menu." The gold flared briefly, winding molten through all of Dwalin's senses. Then, slowly, he became aware that Dain had grabbed his arm, and was shaking him like a rat terrier trying to bring down a moose.

Dwalin looked up. Dain was pale, skin sickly white against his bright red beard, and his green eyes flashed. He bashed his forehead suddenly against Dwalin's, and their armor clanged. "Cousin," he said roughly, "would you carry me? Fergus can no more," and he lay a mailed hand behind the dead boar's ears.

Dwalin nodded. There was still a battle to be fought, and if Dain could have walked on his own, he would not have asked. He paused to press his face to Thorin's one last time, heedless of the blood. Then he stood and hoisted Dain onto his back, careful of the axes. "Back that way," Dain directed. "Daisy and Petunia were carrying cannon, but we're long since out of powder. The lassies aren't Fergus," his voice was choked, "but they'll carry me their best."

"As do I," said Dwalin, and Dain even laughed. They turned their backs on the dead, and Dwalin went as directed. Night was falling, and above the cries and roar of battle, Dwalin heard again the chittering of bats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is awful. I am so sorry. Things should get better, maybe in another chapter or two.


	101. Chapter 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle drags on. Fix-its start turning up. Be warned: they are structurally sound, but not necessarily very nice.

The sky was low with soot and smog, and there was no moon. As darkness fell, the stone-sense kept Dwalin sure-footed beneath his burden, but turned the tides of battle very strange. He knew where the remainder of his company were, in the thick of it -- which meant scattered across half a league. Dain's dwarves pooled and separated in the valley like iron splashing in a furnace. The king said they numbered five hundred in armor, plus eight war-boars. Dwalin had not the heart to ask whether Fergus still counted. If they lived, he promised himself, he would ask Dain about the gift of kings over a glass of whisky. Meanwhile, even armored, Dain was no great burden. Dwalin ran.

The boars had been left to fend for themselves, and a good number of orc- and warg-corpses attested that they had. Dwalin had heard tales of their fierce and temperamental nature, but they raced up like puppies when Dain whistled -- Dwalin counted only five . "Ah, Petunia," said Dain to a great ridge-backed sow, and she came to snuffle at his hand. She was a pale, clean cream-color, with yellow eyes that sparked with intelligence when Dwalin met her gaze. She wore no bridle and no regalia to match Fergus's, only leather straps where the cannon had been carried. But Dain transferred himself to her back easily, settling himself behind her shoulders. "Will you ride with me?" he asked Dwalin. "Or shall I whistle up Daisy for you?" His eyes were actually twinkling. "Care for a bit of a challenge, cousin soldier?"

Dwalin climbed on behind Dain. Petunia grunted at the extra weight, but Dain murmured to her, and she set off readily towards the battlefront. Dwalin was dizzy with exhaustion. He leaned on Dain's back and let his eyes slide closed. Through their armor, the King of the Iron Hills held his hand.

His mind drifted back to the company. There was Balin, fighting, purpose-carved. Nori, a penny rolling along on its edge. No gold-seamed granite anymore, and if Dwalin had been afoot, he would have stumbled at the loss. His mind licked over it like a tongue seeking after a lost tooth. There was still _something_ there, golden gleaming, but hard and too heavy and much too cold. As they passed diagonally down Ravenhill, Dwalin heard a piercing shout: _"Thorin, look, look! The Eagles are coming!"_

The gleam in his mind went cruelly taut, and Dwalin opened his eyes and looked up. There were the great-winged shadows, flying high and fast. Had they come for Gandalf? They passed almost overhead, towards the battlefront.

 _"I'm sorry, Bilbo,"_ Thorin's voice was like a whisper inside Dwalin's ear. _"I would that we had parted in friendship."_

Dwalin tapped Dain's shoulder, uncertain of his own voice. Their eyes met, and Dwalin moved, sliding off the boar without waiting for her to stop. He did not ask Dain for confirmation, only waved him along, and climbed up the steep shoulder of the hill. The golden gleam cut through him like a garrote. The voices went on, apologies and pleas. There was no insincerity to it, for all it could not be real. Dwalin reached the wall that edged the old lookout, and cautiously peered over.

Thorin's body lay as they had left it -- but no, not quite; one of his arms had moved, or been moved. There was still sand where there had been stone in Dwalin's senses, and the cold hard brilliance in the place of gold. Dwalin did not loose his axes or his hammer, but he called out, "Burglar. I know you're there. Take off your ring."

He heard a perfectly ordinary gasp and shuffle, and Thorin's head tipped on the cold ground. Dwalin levered himself over the wall. Bilbo did not appear. But Thorin's voice spoke out again, low and rough: "If more of us valued one another above jewelry and gold, the world would be a merrier place. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell, child of the kindly West...." And his armored hand moved, signing to Dwalin, _Are you dead?_

Dwalin was beside him in an instant. The burglar could stick him easily enough with that little Elven sword, if he thought of it, but Dwalin could not wait. He scooped up Thorin, cold and limp and much heavier than Dain. He cradled the bloody head in its helmet against his shoulder, and carried his king's body back under the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Structure-explaining conversations will happen later, but I thought this was a good creepy segment on its own.


	102. Chapter 102

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin Under the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAD CHAPTER IS SAD, BUT NOT HOPELESS. AT LEAST IF YOU ARE WILLING TO SEE WHAT I SEE AS HOPE???

Thorin's breath was regular and clear, but he did not speak aloud as they entered the Mountain. Dwalin would have carried him to their rooms on the Children's Corridor, but Thorin's hand in the gauntlet made his desires clear: down a winding tunnel, into an old workshop. Master Biskup's, where they had studied armoring. The lights and plumbing had been restored with their work above, and Dwalin lit the lamps as they entered. He considered putting Thorin down on the table, then looked again at the blotched blood: black and red, dried and half-dried, and carried him into the bath instead.

The water ran clear, and Dwalin gently bathed Thorin clean until he could unstick the bloody cloth and plate and mail. When he'd cleared the face beneath the helm, Thorin's blue eyes blinked open, Dwaln felt his own fill with tears. They stared at each other for a long time. Battle might rage outside, but here was the strangest peace.

Thorin pushed himself to sit up, and together they took the helm from his head. His silky hair fell free, except where blood and sweat still matted it. But underneath the mess, Thorin's eyes and skin were unbroken, clearer and brighter than they had been in many months. He did not even look tired. Dwalin cocked his head, not even knowing what to ask or how.

When they'd gotten his layers off and the filth had drained away, Thorin swallowed and met Dwalin's gaze. Finally he spoke aloud again. "I was dead. I went to the Halls of Waiting. Mahal forged me again, and we spoke about many things. Then, then I came back."

Dwalin signed a reverence to the Maker. He had no words, and eventually Thorin spoke on.

"It's the rings that called me," he said, over the soft sounds of the water still flowing. "Bilbo's ring and my father's. The one the hobbit carries is very powerful; it was created in ages past to control other rings, such as Thrain's which long I have worn. There are Men ages dead who still walk the world, waiting for their master to claim them and use their strength."

"Bilbo?" Dwalin's voice was incredulous. Their burglar was master of a room of books and doilies and arm-chairs, not dead Men.

Thorin half-smiled. "No. Bilbo only found it. Their Master is the Singer of Discord, Mahal's brother and the enemy of all free people. He is weakened now, but it is his ring our burglar won, or stole, in the deep places under the Misty Mountains."

"The ring that turns him invisible?" Dwalin was still baffled, but Thorin nodded.

"The same. It has many powers, and Bilbo knows little of them. He isn't an evil person," he said almost defensively, as Dwalin scowled.

"He's faithless, liar, thief, and oathbreaker." Dwalin's voice was bitter. "He contracted to bring you the Arkenstone, and gave it to your enemies instead. And for what, so he could eat scones instead of cram?"

Thorin laughed, gently, to Dwalin's surprise. "I prefer scones myself, and don't you dare tell me you wouldn't rather have cookies." Dwalin's scowl deepened. "But liking nice things, and even greed for them, is not the same thing as evil. Mahal told me this himself, while I was made by his hands, so do you listen and heed."

Dwalin sat back, wiping his own hands on a damp, sticky towel. Thorin closed his eyes briefly. He looked like a statue of himself, mostly clean and almost naked, glowing as if fresh from the forge indeed. "Mahal did not make us so weak as to break our contracts for sweets."

"Mahal made us the first people of Middle-Earth. We were not in Eru's plan, but already the discord had been sung. It was not evil for seeking to do something new or original, but because it was intended to lead others away from their own musics. To make them sound wrong to themselves, unless they followed his lead and not their own desires.

"Our maker made us proof against that. Our people are strong and stubborn, quick to pass judgment and to know our own minds. Though seven rings were forged to control us --" his eyes fell to Thrain's ring with its entrapped gem, on the longest finger of his right hand, "-- our people never fell to them. They could inspire us to great works and even to greed, but never to obey against our own hearts or to succumb to an evil will.

"But when Bilbo called me, he did not wish me any evil. He loved me --" his eyes flicked to Dwalin's, who strove to keep his own face impassive, "-- and he wanted me to see the Eagles come, to see our rescuers, to see my people and my kingdom saved. He wanted me there and alive, that's all. And Mahal saw in my heart that I wanted that too, and he said he would not seek to control me either. So I am here again in Middle-Earth, my spirit returned to my body by the rings' work. Dwarves cannot be bent to evil, but Bilbo only called me for love and hope, and Mahal did not make our kind proof against those at all."

"Will you stay with him now?" The words tore out before Dwalin knew what he was saying, and it was embarrassing -- he should have been asking about Mahal, or evil, or the powers of magic. But Thorin shook his head.

"He is not evil _now_ ," Thorin answered slowly, "but evil is moving in the world. Discord attempts to take our mountain, and would love the ring for its strength. The ring will seek to return to its true Master who forged it, and take Bilbo as well, and myself if it can. He has taken nine Men into his power, but never," Thorin grimaced, "any dwarves."

"Then what will you do? Will you keep the ring or destroy it; will you rule in Erebor?" Dwalin did not dare ask what Thorin would do if Erebor fell.

"I cannot destroy it. Mahal was not sure he could, himself." Thorin shifted, looking for the first time uncomfortable, and sad. "But I will stay in Middle-Earth, and work against the rise of evil. I will not see Bilbo again, nor remain in Erebor. We have allies in this world -- Gandalf is one of them, annoying and high-handed though he may be, and however his plotting may twist our lives. But in the east are others of his kind -- two Blue wizards, they are called. I would find them, and share what I know with them, and help them protect the world and its song as best they can." He slid from the table, looking at his armor, then leaned heavily back into Dwalin's embrace. "But I can't stay here, and I can't be with Bilbo, lest the evil expand against us. I died for Erebor, and for my cousin King Dain. So let me remain dead to you all, and go away to work what good I still might."

Dwalin's arms held Thorin hard around the neck, and Thorin bent his head to kiss Dwalin's hands. "You can't be dead to me," said Dwalin desperately. "You can't."

Thorin nodded, mouth moving over Dwalin's knuckles. "I know, and I'm glad of it," he whispered. "But I can trust you with a secret, too. Help me escape, and to be dead to all others, until we meet again in Mahal's Halls."

Dwalin nodded, and in numb near-silence helped Thorin prepare. They cleaned Biskup's bath, stuffing the wet clothes inside the battered armor. Then Dwalin braided Thorin's hair -- in the circlet-braid of a king, the four square plaits of an adult, the flat fishtail of lying down to rest -- and Thorin cut them off himself. He stuffed his hair into the armor as well, then removed the ring of Thrain and buried it deep inside the gold-chased plate. He carried the armor and Dwalin his sword, and they lay them in state in a old mourning-chamber, by the flickering light of a lantern. 

With his height and slight build and shorn hair, clad in the plainest clothes they could find, Thorin looked like enough to a Man. That would, they decided, be his best disguise: Men were everywhere, and even the Grey Wizard passed himself off as one. He would no longer be known as Thorin son of Thrain, but only Thor the blacksmith; he would carry no axe or sword, but only a blacksmith's hammer. "I've earned our keep that way before," he said, eyes as blue as ever meeting Dwalin's. "It wasn't such a bad life, was it?"

"It was good," said Dwalin, and did not need to add, _when we were together, then_. He left Thorin sorting through old Master Biskup's drawers and closets, and went back to the Children's Corridor to make up a knapsack with food (even cram, Man-disguise be burned) and water, knife and cup and spoon. He wandered through the company's quarters, stealing little luxuries or souvenirs -- a quill of Ori's and one of Balin's ink-stones, a handful of Oin's ginger digestive candies. When the bag was full and Dwalin was crying, he carried it down to Biskup's rooms; finding them empty, he went to the hall of mourning.

Thorin lingered by the door at the end. Dwalin had been through it as a child; they led through the crypts. By custom one returned through tunnels that led outside, to the east where the sun rose with its fire like Mahal's own. He did not send his stone-sense that way, though he presumed Thorin had.

Without speaking, he helped Thorin -- Thor -- to arrange his burdens comfortably. Then they held each other close, tears falling alike onto each other's faces. Dwalin dropped his arms first, then fell to his knees. Thorin kissed his tattooed scalp, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Again, Dwalin restrained his stone-sense. He lay weeping silently until the sound of steps faded into silence as well. Then he stood up and settled his axes again, gulped a mouthful of water, and went out to find the battle again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my head, thor(in) succeeds in his quest, and the blue wizards keep the east safe during the time of the war of the rings. (which is why we hear nearly none of them in any of the canon texts.) he dies when the one ring is destroyed in mount doom. an eagle (the eagles, who are not easily fooled by appearances, discover his continued existence, but keep it secret) returns his body to erebor afterwards, where he is reunited with the stone as was the custom of his people.
> 
> *runs and hides*
> 
>  
> 
> AND NOW WITH A LOVELY ILLUSTRATION, FROM A MOMENT WHEN THORIN'S GOTTEN DRESSED BUT HASN'T HAD HIS HAIR DONE YET:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> BY THE INFINITELY AMAZING ASPARKLETHATISBLUE!!! <3333333
> 
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/image/133154276863


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loss, sacrifice, and battle's end.

The moon cast a thin, low-angled light on the rubble before the Front Gate. Dwalin stumbled as he crossed it. He cursed and breathed hard, and then with great care opened a thin little crack inside his mind: just enough stone-sense to let his steps land true. The battle, from the sound of it, had moved south, and Dwalin went as if it called his name.

It was slow going. All manner of folk lay dead on the ground, mostly Men and orcs, but an immoderate number of elves, wargs, and even dwarves (unfamiliar ones, for which Dwalin felt shamefully blessed). Less expected, but no less sad, were the remains of animals: birds and bats, deer and wolves. There was something that looked like a badger the size of a market hog, slit from throat to belly; Dwalin could not even imagine which side it had fought for, or if it were merely a victim caught in the fray. He marched onwards, and as his eyes adjusted to the night, he saw a gleam coming from the general direction of Dale. Without knowing why, Dwalin broke into a run.

The light was east of the ruined city, as was the noise of battle. Beneath the general clash and screaming, though, there was a chattering, hissing sound, like metal against dry ice. The gleam was the color of dry ice as well, a white like alabaster, corrupt with sickly greens that moved through it like flames. At the center of it was a shape like a worm, like Smaug, but with more legs and only tiny wings. While Dwalin watched it reared up, its head higher than Dale's tallest towers, wings flailing as it attempted to balance itself in the air. It hissed loudly, and an Eagle screamed and toppled from the sky. The freezing wind hit Dwalin as he watched the Eagle's body soar downwards, frozen with its wings spread. It looked like one of Bifur's toys, graceful and unalive. When it hit, the ground split open around it, and armed Men fell and were crushed beneath.

 _Cold-drake,_ said a voice in the back of his mind. Balin's voice, lecturing. _Sib to dragons, but cold where dragons burn hot. Legend says they are similarly greedy, but more fragile; they cannot bear daylight or the summer's heat. They live in deep water, and perhaps they can burrow through stone._

This one crawled across the ground, yielding this way and that to great goblins wielding torches. Something that looked like a white-cloaked Man riding a skeletal horse hissed to it, and it responded with some sibilance that might have been language. Dwarves rushed the goblins and were driven back; elves shot at them but their arrows blew astray on the cold-drake's breath. Men formed an armored line between the evil creatures and Dale, but that did not seem to be their destination. The evil army, with this creature as their ally or their weapon, still pushed on towards Erebor.

Dwalin's mind lit up with defensive schemes -- could they pool oil on the water, and set the River Running on fire? Would burning arrows wound it worse than they had Smaug, or would its cold heart simply put them out? Meanwhile, an orc rushed upon him, and he killed it by lifting its shield over his head and tossing it as far as he could. He listened, but did not hear it land. Instead, he heard something he had never remotely imagined: an elf's voice, impossibly sad and sweet, crying out a dwarf's name: _"Kili!"_

Dwalin ran again, but his stone-sense ran before him. There were no striations of walnut and chocolate and white-gold, only a featureless, unblinking kind of star where Kili had been. When he came closer, he saw that beside the prince lay the corpse of an Eagle; both were crushed as if they'd fallen together. The red-headed elf-guard had plucked arrows from Kili's quiver, and was spinning like a whirlwind; the arrows in her hands like little daggers which she left in goblins' throats. She was mad and fatal, and Dwalin did not come closer.

Something was coming, though; black as burnt copper, moving stealthily through the night. It passed the line of Men, then Dwalin at some distance, then the wild elf. As it came close to the writhing drake, Dwalin saw it in silhouette: a hooded figure on a horse, with one hand extended out before it. The horse -- no, only a pony -- tried to shy away, and its rider sat quiet and coaxed it on. It sidled like a serpent itself, and so Dwalin recognized Shadowwalker before realizing the rider was Nori.

The thief raised his hand, then apparently unsatisfied, touched his pony on the neck and dropped the reins. He climbed to stand on the pony's back and shouted something Dwalin could not hear. The cold-drake's head -- shaped like a wolf's snout, scaled white like old ice, even the eyes scaled over and blind-- dipped towards him. Then Nori threw the Arkenstone high in the air. It burned white and gold and all colors at once, bright as the moon and sun together. The mountains glowed beneath it, and the river sparkled, and the snow shone. The cold-drake's questing snout moved after it, the rest of the long body twisting after, wings and legs aflutter. Goblins were crushed beneath its weight, their torches ignored. Before the Arkenstone hit the ground, the drake caught it in its mouth; the many-colored light gleamed through the cataracts over its eyes. Then it dove into the ground with a sound like an avalanche, leaving only a sinkhole behind. When it was gone, Dwalin's eyes were dazzled, and something close to silence covered the battlefield.

After that it was only a bit of cleanup, as with scores of battles before, only darker than usual. The goblins' torches gave them away, and the elves shot most of them. Dwalin killed a warg. He tried opening his stone-sense again, to see if he could find wounded dwarves or healers for them. But he was nearly blind in all ways with sorrow and exhaustion, and when a pony's mane brushed his face he just barely managed not to strike it down. "Come away now, love," said Nori, and Dwalin allowed himself to be helped to mount behind, and carried back to the Mountain in the pale light before dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Total this-is-just-me-here for the cold-drake, Nori's actions, and the fate of the Arkenstone. I headcanon certain old evil creatures (including the dragons and cold-drakes) as creations from the Age of the Two Trees, and that light being caught in the Arkenstone -- so it is the greatest of treasures to this being, who is happier to take it and run than be pressed further on with goading and the promise of the rest of what lies beneath Erebor.
> 
> Yes, I am ridiculously sentimental about ponies. I can't even apologize for it. Oh well.
> 
> Actually a happy ending for Kili (and Tauriel) was the first thing I ever posted on AO3. It doesn't *quite* fit into Layers' continuity, but maybe 90% or so, and I don't think there's a crying need for me to rewrite it to fit better. (Feel free to tell me if you feel otherwise!) The interested can find it in four parts here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/70145
> 
> I am sorry to note that Dwalin never learns anything of it. (Dis does, but that's a side-story for another time.)
> 
> And while we're talking fix-its, I wrote (probably rather badly) a far-flung, post-apocalyptic bit of Bagginshield as well, over thisaway: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4901203


	104. Chapter 104

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like there will be 107 chapters total.
> 
> many apologies for the slow rate at which this has been going. it's mostly really good news right now: a full ms of my original novel has been requested by a big-ass publisher, plummeting me into revisions (all this having happened at a writing workshop, where i learned to do stuff, which i *should* do to the novel before sending it in). 
> 
> but today for personal reasons this is what i'm working on. thanks to you all for your patience, and as always i hope you enjoy this humble offering.

Nori settled Shadowwalker in Erebor's old stables. There was no hay, but Nori broke handfuls of cram into a bucket, and the pony ate it readily enough. Dwalin waited silently. He might have helped, but when he tried, Nori produced a pipe and lit it and sat him down in a corner. Dwalin smoked it, and surprisingly enjoyed it. When the bowl was empty, he could almost have fallen asleep, but it felt good to watch Nori brush Shadowwalker and check his feet. Dwalin's stone-sense had fallen open again, full of copper. He fancied he could even feel Shadowwwalker, like an etching shaped into the soft, bright center of Nori's soul.

When the animal was tended to to Nori's satisfaction (creams applied here and there, and the whole creature rubbed down with some sort of spice-smelling liniment), he turned to Dwalin. He grimaced at the cold pipe, tucked it into a pocket, and said "All right, your turn." He took Dwalin's hand. Together they walked back to the Children's Corridor. If Dwalin choked as they past the turn for Master Biskup's quarters, Nori declined to remark upon it. He led them to a small room -- Dwalin thought he and his brother might have stayed there, before Smaug -- and without comment or apology, tidily removed other people's belongings (mostly Balin and Dori's) and set them outside. Within, he barred the door, lit the hearth, and began to remove Dwalin's armor.

There was too much dried blood for this to happen easily. With the bracers unbuckled but stuck, Nori clucked and left, returning with a cauldron of water to hang over the hearth. He also brought food -- not cram, but fresh-baked scones with currants. "With apologies from our burglar," said Nori. Dwalin growled, and Nori clucked again. "That's no way to accept an apology. Eat." Dwalin glared, and Nori said softly, "Love, you need to eat."

So Dwalin ate. The scones were delicate, flaky and soft, and there was a kind of jam swirled through as well as the currants. He supposed that as baked apologies went, there could be worse. He supposed that Nori had stolen the Arkenstone now too. The many-colored light still captivated him in memory, but as he considered, he had no anger left. Let the cold-drake carry the cursed wonder away; let its blind eyes bask in it. Thorin -- Thor -- was beyond it now, and Dwalin might as well be so himself. "It's a good scone," he said. His voice came out hoarse and rough.

Nori grinned, much more broadly than Dwalain thought the comment deserved. He had succeeded in cleaning and removing one of Dwalin's armored boots, and paused in the middle of the second, to cross to the cauldron and carefully mix hot water with honey and (impossible; where had Nori found that?) Dorwinion wine. He pressed the cup into Dwalin's hands, and fairly glowed when Dwalin quaffed it all in a single go. He went to prepare a refill, and Dwalin thought this a good time as any to begin the necessary inquisition: "Where did you get that?"

"Thranduil's flet," said Nori with relish. "The wood-king likes his luxuries. And so you needn't think you're pressuring me, the Arkenstone was in Gandalf's things nearby. I don't know what that wizard thinks he's about; he'd left it wrapped with the soldiers' things. Probably thinks it's a disguise, but not to anyone with the least stone-sense who'd seen that thing before. Also he carries a great deal of gunpowder, though I suspect he calls it 'fireworks'." Nori laughed. "And Shadowwalker, he found me. I think he'd been in the Goblins' camp; that would make the most sense. He'd got rid of whatever harness they had. That," he chuckled, "has always been one of his talents."

Dwalin sipped at his drink. Easiest interrogation ever, he thought. So lovely now that he's decided he likes telling me things. "Shall we call your pony up here?" he asked, as Nori had finally gotten the second boot free and was working on his greaves.

Nori chuckled. "No, I think I can manage this. You just lean back and drink," he said, "unless you lose your patience with my clumsy ministrations?"

"Minister away," said Dwalin, gesturing broadly with his cup. In truth he could have had himself out of armor more quickly, but Nori was also giving the armor a good first pass of cleaning as he went. And it felt unspeakably good to be thus gently stripped and washed, his mouth full of warm, alcoholic sweetness.

When he was entirely naked, his wounds were also cleaned and salved (there weren't many, or impressive) and liniment rubbed over him from top to toe. Dwalin let his eyes drift shut, though he almost cried out in relief when the liniment hit what must have been a sprained elbow. He would have pushed up to test it, but Nori pressed him back down by the nape of his neck. "Just lie here, my beauty," he said, "let me take care of you," and Dwalin did. A little later, Nori's hair fell loose over Dwalin's scalp and neck and back. He wound his hands into it, rough as raw silk, still smelling of the battleground over the herbal notes of the liniment. Nori lay down on the larger dwarf, his bared, hard cock pressing into the hollow at the small of Dwalin's back, and he rocked there murmuring for some time as Dwalin lay quite still, dreamily pinning Nori close by the hair. Perhaps Nori whispered "I've got you, we've got it all, all the treasure and the mountain, ours forever, and you're mine..." Or perhaps that was only Dwalin's dream. He was fairly sure the word "home" slipped out in Nori's voice as he came, although it might have only been a groan.

They lay there quietly, the cauldron still bubbling ever-so-slowly over the fire-grate, until a single bright, sharp-edged question cut through Dwalin's lassitude. He untwined his hands from Nori's hair, and rolled out so they were facing each other, side-by side. He looked deep into the sleepy, greenish eyes, and asked, "Why did you give the Arkenstone to the cold-drake?"

"Is that what that thing was?" Nori's eyes half-opened, sleepy, but still glinting. "Like I told you, it's hard to hold goods. You saw what happened with Bilbo. And I'd heard, well, about Thorin. And I thought if I could distract the beast, or at least throw the battle into a little more chaos -- it might do us some good, finally, after all." His face turned wry, though the glint in his eye had become a definite tear. "And it worked," he added defiantly. "How's that tactic for you, master-at-arms?"

Master-at-arms. Not "guardsman". Dwalin rolled the title over in his mind. It pleased him, almost as much as "love".

"I love it," he said. He pulled Nori close again, pushing his face into the soft, tangled hair. "Well done, my good soldier." And whether Nori liked the title or not, he didn't get the chance to say then, because Dwalin kissed him and their mouths were in use for some time.


	105. Chapter 105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> family. politics. angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last of the sad chapters, i promise!

It was easy, under the Mountain, to feel like time had ceased to pass. There was no daytime or darkness, no need for light to navigate towns and wilds not made of stone, or fire for warmth, or heightened watchfulness as night obscured enemies or prey. Nori came and went, bringing food often, always locking the door behind him. Dwalin spent a lot of time asleep, or doing calisthenics, or scribbling on the hearthside slates with chalk. He wanted to mark his palms, this time; a place he could easily show or close away, and look at for himself. He did not dwell on any thoughts that went further or deeper, until his brother's unmistakeable footstep stopped just outside the wall.

"Come in," he called out of habit, then had to get up and fiddle with the lock before Balin could reply. Lamps were lit in the corridor, and Balin was resplendent in their light -- rubies and jet in his ears and on his fingers, and a black leather tabard in high contrast with his snowy white beard and hair. Dwalin was abruptly aware of his own state -- naked, disheveled, and not recently brushed or bathed -- but Balin flung his arms around his brother. He just about came up to Dwalin's chin. "It's all right," said Dwalin, returning the embrace. "What's wrong?"

Balin had to crane his neck for their gazes to meet, but he murmured, "My poor little one..." before pulling Dwalin back into the chamber. It was embarrassingly messy, especially given that Dwalin had kept up a military level of precision and tidiness in every camp throughout their trip. But Balin wasn't looking at the room. He relocked the door and, since there were no chairs, sat down on the bed. (Dwalin remembered, distant and a little guilty, Nori hauling their brothers' things through the door.) Dwalin sat down beside him, and for a while they only held each other. Then Balin looked deep into Dwalin's eyes, nodded, and took a silver flask from his vest. "The elves call this something else," he said, "but it's whisky. Good stuff."

Dwalin drank, and the deep flavor warmed and soothed him before he returned the flask. "Is this trade now?" he asked, because Balin would want him to, "or gifts for favor?"

"Gifts," said Balin shortly, quaffing himself. "Listen, brother mine," he said. "This is important, and nobody's dared track you down for good reason. We need to know. Do you," he gripped Dwalin's bare shoulder hard, "want to be king?"

Dwalin choked and Balin had to pound him on the back. He was crying, but by the time his throat cleared was able to pretend he wasn't. "No, of course not," he said. "Dain's next, isn't he?"

"He was, by primogeniture, and as sworn before the Arkenstone. But another son of Durin's line already occupied the Mountain, and led its defending army." Balin's dark eyes were searching, sharp.

"Army?" Dwalin scoffed. "Not so much as a squad. A drinking-brawl, that's all we were." Balin took out a handkerchief, as snowy white as his beard, and gently dried Dwalin's face.

"An army," he continued relentlessly, "of dwarves and owls and ravens, armed and armored and bearing intelligence to our allies. Their general --" Dwalin choked again, and Balin's hand steadied on his neck, "well, master-at-arms, whatever -- might make a reasonable claim." His eyes were still probing Dwalin's, as if he was setting a problem in political theory.

"No." Dwalin had never much cared for theoretical debate, certainly not on this topic. "Don't be ridiculous. I'd make a terrible king, and Dain is already a good one."

Balin made a skeptical sound, though no overt argument. "With a perfectly good kingdom of his own already, a considerable distance from here."

"Do you want to be king?" Dwalin countered. Balin had also taught him tactics, and almost smiled.

"I don't, actually," he replied, "though you are not the first to suggest it." He pulled away, not smiling now. "I wanted to be Thorin's historian, his advisor...." He said the name calmly enough, and only a brother might have caught the little rush before the word.

"So. King Dain." It was a familiar phrase, and comfortable enough.

"Will you attend his coronation, and swear your fealty to him, and allow the negotiation of a new order of inheritance?"

"No!" It came out louder than Dwalin intended, with a growl. He pushed himself to his feet, schooling his tongue carefully so as to neither lie nor be forsworn. "I can't... I won't ever swear to another king. Not in Erebor, and nowhere else." He was stamping around the hearth now, chalkdust smearing beneath his feet. "I'll swear to Erebor," he offered, after Balin sat silently watching. "I'll swear my arms and my loyalty to the Mountain. Not the Heart of the Mountain -- that's why there's trouble, isn't it? Because of what Nori did?" Balin nodded, and Dwalin had to laugh. Count on the thief to make mischief. "Fuck the Arkenstone," said Dwalin deliberately, "let the cold-dragon have it. And you work out the line of inheritance any way you want to, Balin. Tell Dain you have my absolute support in that, as he has my absolute support in his kingship, as long as he takes it without me." He dropped heavily back to the bed, squinching up his legs so he could lie with his face cuddled into his brother's belly. "So I swear by Mahal's hand in mine," he muttered. Then he was crying so hard his chest racked. Balin cradled him. He might have been weeping too, but he held Dwalin as if he were a little dwarfling again, who had never left the Mountain, never fought or sworn or lost or told a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course dwalin has not lost exactly, nor has he lied. but he feels as if he has done both, poor fellow.
> 
> there are i think two chapters left; i think between them they will comprise a pretty happy ending :)


	106. Chapter 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i still have about two plot-points left to hit, and not tons happens here, so there will still be at least two chapters more but i had to get from the previous chapter's headspace, so all that happens here is moving along. feel free to move along :)
> 
> ALL THE LOVE TO THE NWALIN CORNER and our "word races" for helping me keep going, however slowly i do!!

The night before Dain's coronation, Nori brought up a cold supper, a bottle of Dorwinion wine distilled into brandy, a double armful of mithril chains, and a malachite jar of what he described as "Oin's compliments". When Dwalin woke up the next day, his head was thick, his body warm and boneless, and it took him twenty slow minutes to figure out that none of the heavy chains were attached to anything anymore. Nori was gone and the hearth-fire burned low, but Dwalin felt the change in the stone: the Lonely Mountain had taken a new king.

At that he became restless, got up, washed, brushed his hair, and packed. He had not packed anything since they had arrived in Erebor, but the habit was old as well as recent. Winter was a good season for hunting -- deer, hare, boar -- and Dwalin contemplated weaponry for those tasks, bow and arrows, spears. Perhaps the Men might be able to part with a hunting-dog; a dizzyingly luxurious thought. Perhaps he could buy Bifur a puppy? Dizzying again. Dwalin lay back on the bed with one boot on and one still off, and the mithril links chimed under his weight. Too much change, he thought, all too much. He put a pillow over his face, but that did not roll back time or fate, and presently he found the combined scents of Nori's hair-oil and Oin's compliments distracting otherwise. He snorted at himself, sat up, and put on the second boot.

Days and nights meant nothing underground, and seasons only a little more, but Dwalin was still surprised at how much had changed outside the door. The hallway outside their chamber was clearly private now, rather than a family passage. There was a charcoal portrait of Shadowwalker framed on the wall, in Nori's unmistakeable style, and someone -- Ori? Dori?? -- had left a basket of knitting-in-progress between two upholstered chairs. The notion made Dwalin first uncomfortable, so that he found a gold-framed mirror and checked his beard and teeth. Then he saw his own blue eyes, set between the old scars and the new. He knew that if he looked any longer, that blue would film over with tears again, so he turned away with a grunt and went towards the armory.

The corridor was crowded, relatively speaking, mostly with Iron Hills dwarves and the occasional uncomfortable-looking, oversized Man. Everyone gave Dwalin a very wide berth, even though he wore no more than the usual weaponry (knuckledusters, Grasper and Keeper, one knife in the belt and one in a boot plus two in his pockets for spares). Upon thinking this, he became immediately aware that nobody else wore weapons of any sort, even knives being the decorative sort and hanging among keys and other little tools on chains. He felt suddenly terribly uncouth, a soldier stomping through a civilized place. He reminded himself that his plan was to go hunting. He'd only look worse after the armory, and only until he could get outside, anyway.

Blessedly, the armory was where it had been in Dwalin's childhood -- until he saw the open service-window in the stone, he had not allowed himself to think on the uncertainty. He went around through the back, as he had used to, and startled the unfamiliar dwarf who sat there, sharpening old blades as Dwalin had also used to. "My lord," said the dwarf, standing up. He looked like one of Dain's soldiers, a solid fellow with dark hair strangely streaked with reddish gold.

"At ease," said Dwalin automatically. He was not unused to being recognized, but he was not used to strangers anymore, either. They sized each other up. "I want to go hunting," said Dwalin, reminding himself as well as informing the other, and soon enough they were deep in conversation. Furgil thought that rabbits were plentiful, but boar could be found if one were willing to take the time, which might be days. "Not many hunting them," said Furgil wistfully. "Most people are tired of the snow."

"Is the post running?" asked Dwalin, embarrassed that he didn't know. Furgil waved that off, bringing paper and pen, and Dwalin wrote two letters:

_Dear Nori, I have been under the mountain too long. Strange to say. I'm going out hunting. I'll be back in three days with meat I hope. I love you. D._

He chewed the feather on the pen for a moment -- a vile habit, he could hear his brother saying even as he made himself stop, before writing:

_Dear Bifur, I apologize that I have been remote so long. I have been_ he paused, chewed again, stopped again, wrote on _sad and tired. I am going out to hunt boar in the oak-woods on the Lower East slope. I am at the armory now and will leave as soon as I'm equipped -- it's nice to have someone helping with that, so strange! If you track me I will be glad for your company, if not I hope to bring you back a gift. Love, Dwalin._

Furgil gave him two long spears and one shorter, new wool to line his boots, and a standard-issue pack with a tent and a sleeping bag and ropes to raise his rations beyond the reach of bears. Dwalin hefted it, finding it nearly weightless after the endless burdens of the Quest. But the Quest was over, and this was only hunting. Furgil pressed the spear-hafts into Dwalin's hands and closed his fingers around them, careful of the knuckledusters. To Dwalin's faint surprise, he felt Furgil signing an old blessing of sorts where their hands aligned: _Take care among the trees._

Dwalin's grin split his face, so hard that his face ached with it. "Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu," he responded, formal and polite and meaning it. He walked out through the East Gate just in time to see the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu" is Khuzdul i found somewhere -- "May Mahal keep you."


	107. Chapter 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hunting, finding, being found, finding out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: hunting, butchering, gore. meat is murder. people who find that squicky probably don't want to read this.

The day was fine and the pack was light, and everything felt utterly unfamiliar as Dwalin trundled downslope to the woods. His family had gone there, in the old days of Erebor, hunting-parties that were half picnic. Today the only voices were birdsong, the trees bare of leaves and the snow on the ground a storybook of tracks. Dwalin loosed his first shot at a deer that was really too far away, and it gave him a long, skeptical look before bounding away. Who do you think you are, Kili? it seemed to ask, and despite the presence of grief and failure, he had to laugh as he retrieved the arrow.

After that he sought for boar, and found a track soon enough. This time of year, it would have been most effective to put out bait and wait for animals to find it, but that would have meant more days in the cold than Dwalin's current sensibilities allowed. There were signs of a sounder -- a group of sows and their offspring -- but decided that wasn't what he wanted after all. A solitary old boar with great fangs for making jewelry and strong-flavored meat would be the thing. It took more searching, but he found what looked like a tusk-marked tree-trunk and set off in pursuit.

The trail wound deep among the oaks, dug up here and there in search of old acorns. Dwalin thought he was probably getting close, but the winter sun grew thin, and he stopped to make camp. The little insulated tent went up easily and he banked it in with snow to hold the heat. The rations provided included spiced tea and potatoes as well as cram, so he built a little cookfire and sat with a cup and a pipe while the potatoes baked. If he felt a little lonely, it was novel enough not to be uncomfortable, at one with the chill wind and the starry sky seen through the trees. He slept soundly, with no dreams.

Sunrise came and Dwalin lazed through it. Dawn was a good time for boar; they would be returning to their dens after the night's foraging. On the other hand, the air was clear, and he'd have all day to track one down, and possibly an easier time killing one if he could approach it asleep. He broke his fast -- there was no honey in the rations; he should have brought his own -- and went back to work following the trail of cloven trotters. Near noon, he found the den, a heap of fallen branches mounded with snow with a shadowy entrance as broad as Dwalin was tall.

In his youth, Dwalin would have raced to the top of it and struck his spear straight down. As an old hunter, he chose to first scout out a wide circle, determining in which directions the animal might flee, or where it might try to stand its ground and fight. He hefted his weapons, forming plans for different battles here or there -- boar were quick when they chose to run, and a spear flew further than an axe. But if he lay in wait until the animal moved out at dusk, he could perhaps strike hard with two axes to throw, and save the spears to finish it off without getting too close to those tusks. While he was pondering these strategies, there was a sudden rush and snow flying up everywhere -- Bifur had leapt onto the boar's hiding-place and was slashing through the branches, exactly as Dwalin had imagined his own younger self. He ran to help.

The boar screamed, thrashing upwards through the snow and spraying blood everywhere. Bifur was tossed aside as lightly as a doll, and rolled back to his feet like a marionette pulled upwards by its strings; his spear caught blood and sunshine as he raced back into the fray. But Dwalin had already loosed Grasper and it stuck hard in the animal's shoulder. Its leg gave out as it tried to charge, and it all but rolled on to Bifur's spear at the juncture between its skull and spine. Dwalin ran to meet them, and both their blades were in it when the animal gasped its last and lay still.

"That was stupid," Dwalin said when he had the breath to talk. "It could have taken you out from underneath. How did you even know where to strike?"

Bifur released the spear-shaft and pulled off thick gloves. _Watched all morning,_ he signed. _Saw where the snow moved as it breathed, when it turned over in its dreams. And you,_ Bifur's laughter rang out, _studying the landscape like laying in for a siege. I was starting to get cold._

Steam was rising from the boar's corpse, and snow melting where the blood spilled. Dwalin grinned back, harsh with unspent adrenaline. Together they dragged its body to a heavy old tree that would support the weight on a winch, and built a fire to boil water to keep their tools clean and safe. They gutted it carefully and left it to bleed out. "We can just drag it home," said Dwalin, still struck with wonder at the thought of not needing to turn the prey into portable food as quickly as possible.

 _Won't bring it to Bombur like this,_ Bifur signed, setting aside his knife. _He wouldn't thank us for the work. We'll have the heart and liver to ourselves. Since I was quick to the kill, we won't have to butcher it frozen or in the dark._ Dwalin nodded, and took the organ meats while Bifur returned to the butchering.

It did take a long time for one dwarf rather than three or six working together, but Bifur seemed pleased enough, humming tunelessly while he worked. There was an apple, rather withered, among the rations; feeling celebratory, Dwalin chopped it up and cooked it in. When the meal was ready, he took it over to share. Bifur made a pleased sound and scrubbed off his hands and face in the snow, and Dwalin carefully set the food on the flat of his knife and offered it.

Their eyes met as Bifur took it, and as he swallowed, he flared up like a bonfire in Dwalin's stone-sense. How could he have not seen this? He knew (he would never forget) that Bifur had kindled, but he was roiling with fire now, literally twice alive. There were the familiar, beloved green edges and facets, and the dark shattered stone surrounding them; there was also a paler, finer green like molten glass, with a line of gold running through it so familiar Dwalin could almost taste it. He fell to his knees, and Bifur caught the pan.

 _You feel him?_ Bifur asked, taking the knife and pulling Dwalin against his side. Dwalin nodded, overcome and wordless. _It's a wonder,_ Bifur added more slowly, _to be used thus in Mahal's own work. I wonder now if our forges feel like this, or our crafting-knives._

Dwalin shook his head. "I wonder too," he said, regretting as he usually did not, that he was only a warrior and not much of a maker himself. Perhaps now that there might be peace for a time, he could take up another apprenticeship. The seam of gold twined through his mind, and he wondered what Bifur might know or imagine of the child he -- _she_ , then -- might bear.

"Akhrâmkhu Thorur," Bifur said, and the long Khuzdul roll of the final syllable brought it far too close to Thorin's last words about himself. Dwalin swallowed. Grief and knowledge and joy mixed together and pressed hard inside him, threatening to spill from his eyes or his throat. But Bifur kissed him softly, and fed him boar's-heart and apples from his fingers, and Dwalin did not weep. When they had finished the meal, they set back to the butchering together, and before darkness fell they were pulling their kill home on a heavy sledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eating from the knife is a hunters' ritual. it would be bad table manners, but there is no table here :)
> 
> "Akhrâmkhu" is khuzdul for "his name is". bifur is a very conservative, conventional sort in his way, and is naming the child as thorin's. this is so the line of durin doesn't die out, though it does leave the kingship. which is kind of me saying "nyeah, nyeah," but what else is fandom for?


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bifur and dwalin get laid. again. that is all <3 (well, plus food and such. you wouldn't want them to go hungry now XD) (and biology, and m-e theology, because i do go on imagining things...)

They could have been home by midnight. They were not so far from home that Dwalin could not feel the Lonely Mountain's long roots beneath them, nor the beacon city of Erebor. But as soon as the evening twilight dimmed, Bifur dropped his side of the sledge and set to hauling the boar's remains up a tree for safekeeping out of scavengers' reach, and Dwalin helped without being asked.

Bifur's rations had clearly been packed by no one less than Bombur. The bread was still fresh, and there was a gilded pepper-grinder that looked like ancient treasure and probably was. He also had wine, which he handed over to Dwalin after they had the fire going. _Set up the tent,_ he signed on Dwalin's palm. _Make a good snowbank; tonight will be windy._

Dwalin did as he was told, though he did pause now and again to drink from the bottle. It was a honey-wine, very sweet, which was precisely to his tastes. Bifur set up a boar's leg in an iron pot, melted some snow, added some herbs and vegetables. Dwalin sniffed and swallowed hard. Clearly they'd been chosen, chopped, and packed by Bifur's cousin, and apparently Dwalin had become sentimental about that slanted, narrow signature of the knife and Bombur's fondness for shallots and sage. He hadn't even realized he would recognize it, though it was clear as any craftsman's mark -- "To your skills and your family's," he called out, for a toast. Bifur grunted, but he left the pot long enough to take a swig from the bottle himself, green eyes grinning into Dwalin's before they returned to their tasks.

Bifur finished first, leaving the covered pot over the fire. He found downed boughs and lay them in a crisscross pattern downwind from Dwalin's snowbreak, and put up a tent rather larger than the glorified sleeping-bag Dwalin had been issued, then packed it half full of new furs. _The cooking will be hours,_ he signed. _Come in and keep me warm._

It was pitch-black inside once Bifur had tightened the snowflap, but Dwalin's stone-sense seemed to fill the space with a kaleidoscope of lights: Bifur's familiar blacks and greens, and the all-too-familiar twining of gold that was becoming Thorur. It was like being inside fireworks, Dwalin thought, or a kiln where mineral glazes melted and ran -- he fell back, dazzled and dizzy, while Bifur divested them both of snowy boots and clothes in the tent's tiny vestibule. Then Bifur lifted him -- a shock, when had anyone last picked Dwalin up off his feet? -- and tumbled him back into the interior chamber. Despite his weight, the branches and furs bounced beneath him, and he writhed at the sensation. Bifur dropped down beside him, his presence at once steadying and overwhelming. "Hold me?" Dwalin asked, voice shaking. "Just lie here still and...?"

Bifur nodded, the long braids of his beard passing over Dwalin's scalp as he gathered Dwalin close. They were silent for awhile, so quiet that Dwalin could hear the low crackling of the cookfire burning outside. He pressed his cheek into Bifur's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat in counterpoint. The stone-sense did not dim, but in time Dwalin found himself comfortable within it. Like a kiln, he thought again, and signed as much on Bifur's shoulder: _I feel like we're inside a fire...._

Bifur laughed, a long, soft tintinnabulation. His breath lifted the hairs on the back of Dwalin's neck. _I did want you to keep me warm,_ he signed, fingernails scraping lightly against Dwalin's back. _Kindling's one thing, but forging is another._ Dwalin could feel the heat of it, the gold growing among the black and green. _It's good work,_ Bifur signed slowly, then added almost too rapidly to be understood -- _more fun than toys!_ Dwalin chuckled too. He could not help but notice, then, the gemstones riding the soft mound low on Bifur's abdomen, or the heat that emanated from beneath and within.

"D'you still want to fuck?" he asked aloud. It felt like forever, and like no time at all, since they'd held one another as shield-brothers; separate and impossible that ever he'd lain with Bifur in the Great Hall with Thorin's deep voice singing praises.

 _Yes, if you'll still have me._ The signs became a caress. _I've missed you._

Dwalin kissed him, tasting the honey-wine on top of the strange sweetness of Bifur's kindling, and rolled them so that he lay on top. _I missed everything,_ he confessed with his fingers beneath Bifur's beard. _I felt so lost._

Bifur shook his head, though his hands held Dwalin in the kiss. _We cannot be lost forever,_ he signed back with certainty. _Never lost to one another. We will all meet again with Mahal, when this world is finished and we begin the Second Song._

Dwalin had been taught the same, of course, but had never given it much thought past the formalities of respects paid to the dead. Now, with the new gold of Thorur close beneath him, he felt it as clear, sweet relief: he would be with Thorin again. Also Frerin -- had he been golden too? Was Dis? -- Dwalin wondered. Bifur bit him and Dwalin startled at the sharp touch, all other thought driven from his mind. He bit back, but Bifur had gotten the better of him during that moment of distraction; they wrestled. Dwalin was rolled over and the boughs creaked beneath them. Bifur mounted him easily, hammer into forge like being swallowed, and Dwalin groaned aloud.

He wanted to move, he could tell that Bifur wanted him to move, but Bifur held him still. _Do you know this?_ Bifur asked, fingers pressed into Dwalin's biceps, holding him down. _Thorin had my kindling, and you held me the same night. But if you spend in me again, you will be part of this work, part of Thorur's forging._

Dwalin bucked forcibly, one arm around Bifur's shoulders and the other at his waist, pulling them as close together as he could. "I do know that," he whispered, sounding harsh in his own ears, "and I know the honor, and I want it." He bucked again, feeling for that golden thread. The green-and-black danced around him, and for a moment he could almost sense himself: a singular solid thing, possibly blue, or perhaps that was only his memory of Thorin's talk. "Let me," he begged, and Bifur laughed again, releasing the pin. Dwalin rolled to the top. "I swore to you on my weapons," he said, punctuating his words with deep thrusts into the hot, wet, rippling shape of Bifur's forge. "Now I swear to you by my body. At your service and your family's," he was gasping, and Bifur was too, and murmuring small sounds of pleasure. Dwalin liked that, and liked the way their movement together made sparks fly up in his stone-sense, and waves like color and scent ripple through the heat. It would have been distracting, were it not part of the same pleasure that sex with Bifur had always been, the same love and camaraderie and joy they had shared all along. Only now their work was greater, intended for a future past their own mere survival -- and with that thought Dwalin shouted in triumph and spent, and Bifur shuddered in his grip as their bodies melted together.

Slowly Dwalin's stone-sense dimmed, and his breathing slowed. Bifur still radiated heat, and Dwalin curled up beside him like a first-year apprentice next to a workshop forge. _You will always be part of my family,_ Bifur signed, his touch lingering and lazy.

"Aye," said Dwalin, his heart swelling with joy and pride at the thought. He kissed Bifur's cheek. "D'you think the food is ready?"

_Go and check if you like. It could be. Bombur doesn't trust me with anything easily ruined._

Dwalin went out, pausing for his boots so he wouldn't track snow back onto those luxurious furs. The fire was deep with embers, the vegetables soft, and the boar's meat falling off the bone. Dwalin had just lifted the pot when Bifur came to join him, still bare even to his feet, carrying the honey-wine. They sat down together -- cold snow and Bifur's heat a shockingly beautiful contrast on Dwalin's skin -- and ate with their fingers, feeding one another as well as themselves, pausing now and then to kiss or comb fingers through one another's hair.

"Are you still with Ori?" Dwalin asked, as they cracked the bone for the marrow.

Bifur nodded. _He wants us to marry, and to nurse Thorur when he's born. I think we will._ There was a long, thoughtful pause as he chewed the bone, then he added, _I like how young he is. My cousins were orphaned, and though I had great joy of raising them, still I wish they had their parents for longer. And I am already old, as our people count our years._

"May you have many more, and many more children besides," said Dwalin. He had no idea of Bifur's precise age, and as a soldier had never much entertained the thought of dying as an elder himself. He found the notion peculiar, though not actually unappealing. He had survived this long against unreasonable odds, and was eating fresh meat from a beloved hand on the Lonely Mountain -- that was more luck and more blessing than he had ever let himself imagine. Bifur smiled, white teeth flashing in his black-and-white beard.

 _Nori turned me away from your door. He said you'd see who you wanted, when you wanted, and no one was to disturb you before. Only your brother pushed past him, and he came out in tears himself._ He took the wine-bottle, drank deeply. _That one won't leave you, or leave you unguarded._

"Apparently not," said Dwalin, wondering what it would have been like to not have had his time alone, or his time alone with Nori, and then turned away the thought with a shake. "And I've been his guardsman for most of his life." He no longer even felt wry about it; it was what they had been to each other, along the way to what they'd become. He wondered again if Nori really had kindled, that long time ago with Eada, and he wondered if Nori might kindle again someday in his own arms. He shivered deliciously at the idea, and glanced down at Bifur's belly, where his jewels flickered bright in the fire-glow. "I want to make him feel safe," he said aloud, "or what's a guardsman for?"

Bifur laughed, loud and clear. _So many things,_ he signed, and repeated, before he kicked snow over the fire and dragged Dwalin back to the furs inside their tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> partitive paternity (in which a pregnant person's other sex partners also contribute towards the development of the embryo) is a cultural phenomenon out here irl; i've enhanced it a little bit for my dwarves.


	109. Chapter 109

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oin appears in this chapter, and i am chagrined to note that i've pretty much ignored him throughout this fic. my apologies to an extremely vital and interesting character. i've also hardly mentioned bofur, whom i adore. here's to everything left unsaid, i guess.
> 
> there should be two more chapters of happy ending, and then perhaps one of notes. i'm sorry for the slow rate of updates. it's hard to let go.

At dawn they broke camp and walked back to Erebor. Dwalin could feel the roots of the Lonely Mountain deep in the ground beneath them, then the city bright as spilled gemstones ahead and above. It drew them through the pathless forest, and their steps were quick over old snow. The bell-pull chain at the East Gate shone in the morning sunlight, and when Bifur rang it, Dwalin felt the great bell ringing in his bones.

The dwarf who opened the gate was efficient, checking in their borrowed equipment, accepting the bulk of their kill "for the people of the city and its dependents" -- that last, Dwalin gathered, meaning "refugees from Lake-town". Bifur took a shoulder cut for his family, and Dwalin came away with the beast's four great tusks. He had a set of jewelry in mind -- the upper tusks for Bifur and himself, and the smaller for Nori and Ori; the right-hand pair for a marriage gift, and the left-hand... well. He could do the carving and setting himself -- with any metals and all the ornamentation he wanted, he thought, suddenly giddy. The contract had been fulfilled. He was wealthy beyond imagining.

Erebor's halls were mostly empty. Dwalin passed perhaps a score of people, all Dain's soldiery, repairing water and gas lines. He found himself in the old Jeweler's Quarter. He was drawn there by his stone-sense -- faceted rubies and rose quartz, rainbows of jasper, and copal amber, the sacred stone of Mahal's beloved wife -- which he wanted to bring into the working of his trophies, and by old memories of childhood, accompanying his father to buy gifts for his mother, and later shopping himself for gifts to Thorin and and Balin. There was no lighting there; he brought a lamp from a corridor.

The abandoned wealth shocked him. He had forgotten, or perhaps never realized, the luxury of the old Dwarvish realm. And a twelfth share of it was _his_ , according to their laws. That said, he found an old graphite pencil and a blank ledger, and made careful accounting of everything he took: carving tools from the house of Vi, golden chain from the house of Ar. Gems and metals flared before Dwalin's light, almost begging: _take us || use us || admire us || love us_ , and at a higher pitch _craft with us || make us valuable || use us to show your love_.

Dwalin's lamp was flickering low by the time he left, and he refilled it with oil when he returned to the section in use. His pockets were full and he kept his hands in them, fingers caressing metal and stone, gliding carefully along sharp-edged tools and the ivory trophies of the hunt. Stone-sense and memory led him easily, but when he stood in the courtyard outside of the old Children's Corridor he could not help noticing how much it had changed. There had never been a sign on it before, but now there was one worked in soft gold: HALLS OF THE RECLAIMERS, it read.

Inside, walls had been ripped out and raised here and there. Around the bend past the sign, there was a great room lit with candles, and Oin sat at a long table, writing in a book. He looked up as Dwalin entered, and smiled at his cousin. "Decided to join the living, eh?" the old healer asked, and Dwalin ducked before answering.

"I went hunting," he said defensively, "so we should eat a little longer." 

"Good, good," said Oin with a chuckle. He was wearing a long robe of dark fur, with silver clasps inlaid with sapphires, and his braids -- which had always been unaccountably tidy on the Quest -- were a cascading marvel of loops over flowing waves. "We're doing well," he added after a moment. "Fili's legacy is going to what remains of the Men after all, but we're earning it back in meat and furs and repair work on old Dale. Gloin couldn't be more pleased," he said, though a shadow crossed his face as he did, and he hurried on: "And of course there's plenty of work for me! Men are like enough to us in the body, and respond well to similar treatments; they only earn their injuries cheaper than a dwarf. And we make better neighbors than the dragon ever did."

"What was it like for them?" asked Dwalin, sitting down by his elder.

Oin shrugged "Better ask among them. The able-bodied are in their own city now, and the injured here in the Soldier's Ward. You'll remember that place," he waggled his eyebrows and Dwalin laughed, "and like anyone healing they'll talk your ear off. I leave my trumpet out until after I've asked a question." Dwalin laughed again; Oin's ear-trumpet was sitting on the table now, unused.

"What's it like for us?" he asked, and Oin's expression softened.

"Dain's men are good folk, hard workers, and Dain himself is generous," he began. "The Ur family are always laughing, all of them -- nobility now, in a proper city, and a baby on the way! The Ri, well. Ori's greatest new wealth is the library, of course, and we expect he'll be father to that baby, though he hardly seems like more than a baby himself, eh? Nori hardly left your side, but since you've been gone he's spent all day either opening old locks -- with a flourish and little smile like it's child's play. I don't know how you stand his vanity, except I suppose it isn't a patch on your own." Dwalin actually blushed, and Oin clapped him fondly on the shoulder. "You're looking well," Oin said suddenly, then returned to his previous comment: "Or Nori's been treasure-hunting, along with your older brother and his own, and they've been rebuilding -- come, I'll show you." He rose in a tidal wave of silver and black, and set off towards the back of the halls, silent in soft slippers.

The general shape of a slow curving corridor remained, with the entry at one end and the kitchens at the other. The communal baths had not been relocated either, though the old raven-crest curtains had been replaced with shining, clattering lines of anodized chain. _So much for sneaking,_ Dwalin thought, and wondered whether that was Nori or his own small self speaking in his mind. Oin indicated that he and Gloin had taken over the old classrooms -- the gas-burners and the small forges being convenient to alchemy, and the tally-machines conducive to banking accounts as well as teaching math. The family Ur had settled in the old Royal Nursery -- Dwalin bit back a confession; it was Bifur's to make and not his -- and the many small dormitories around it, as befitting Bombur's great brood of children, who were expected to arrive in the summer. Ori had been staying there as well, Oin mentioned, though officially the Ri had claimed the former guest quarters. The room where Dwalin had sequestered himself was at one end of it, and a larger sitting-room past it, and at the other end "are the elder brothers," as Oin put it. Dwalin's nod was half satisfied -- he liked having Balin near -- and half resignation; he would have to put up with Dori after all. Then he laughed at himself. There would be stone walls between them now at least, rather than tent fabric at the most. Doubtless Dori felt the same, and they both would accept the arrangement in Balin's honor.

"Shall I leave you to bathe and rest?" Oin inquired delicately, when they were back at what Dwalin supposed was now the outside of his own door. "I'll have food sent up, and let Nori know you're back." Dwalin nodded, grateful. The changes were good, but hard to take in, and harder to imagine he'd missed out on the decisions and construction. "Be well," said Oin, embracing him. "I'd offer you my compliments, but I don't expect you'll need them." And with that he pushed Dwalin inside and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the atmosphere of Smaug's presence tended to preserve things like books and furs, discouraging moths and other little scavengers, and increasing the wealth of his hoard (though he would have regarded them as secondary to metals and jewels).


	110. Chapter 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut. genderfuck. like you might expect XD

The room had been cleaned. The ashes and chalk were swept from the floor, but the designs Dwalin had drawn there were reproduced on paper and hung upon the walls. It had been aired out as well, and the fire burned low. Dwalin combed red-cedar twigs from his hair and his warg-skin, and threw them on the flames to enjoy the spicy scent. He left the curtain open around the bath so that he could smell it as he soaked.

It was more than luxurious, bathing in hot water, safe under stone. Meat in the larder, craft-work awaiting. A lover on the way -- and just as Dwalin's thoughts turned to that the door opened and Nori came in. He wasn't dressed for the road, or even for work; no gauntlets or even boots. Instead he wore a long pale robe that shimmered with golden embroidery, and fur slippers that made no sound on the floor but sparkled with topaz and emeralds by the toes. But his hair was braided as elaborately as ever, and Dwalin wondered if he still carried an armory and locksmith's shop within.

He carried a tray with a teapot on it, steam rising from the spout, and a plate stacked with biscuits and scones. Dwalin beamed. "Hullo," he said. "Guess you're glad to have me back."

"Guess I am," said Nori cheerfully. He knelt beside the bath, broke open something that smelled of dried currants, and fed it to Dwalin bite by bite. Dwalin nipped at Nori's fingers as he ate, and told him all about the hunt, about Bifur and the snow and the quiet wild woods. He was trying to decide if he wanted to tell about the tusks, or if he wanted to work them secretly for a surprise. Meanwhile, he held Nori's eyes as he stretched and flexed and scrubbed at himself, remembering the first time Nori had watched him at his ablutions. He felt loved and appreciated as Nori watched now, pleased beyond reasonable measure as Nori's cheeks flushed red and his eyes darkened. But he was utterly unprepared when Nori interrupted, saying blankly, "Dwalin, you're a woman."

"What?" Dwalin's reply was equally blank. "I'm what?" He looked down at himself. Mahal's apron was retracted, which he had not particularly noticed; it was not unusual either under water or under Nori's regard.

"A woman," said Nori, then blushed even more as he tried again. "I'm sorry, no, you're a dwarf, of course. You have, umm." He gestured vaguely towards Dwalin's nether regions.

Dwalin peered down and didn't see much; the water was mostly opaque with minerals, soap, and the remains of the past several days. He had already washed there, but felt around with his fingers beneath Nori's scrutiny. His hammer wasn't hard, though he did feel something quite like the twisting, pleasurable heat of that. In fact, as he touched himself, he found that the jeweled mass had spread and settled higher up his front than was normal, and the forge beneath it was the part enlarged. No longer a mere wrinkle, it was a silky ripple of flesh as long as his finger -- no, two ripples, swollen and soft and so lovely to feel as he pressed a finger between them. Even under water, he could feel himself slick.

Nori was on his knees at the side of the bath. "Might I...?" he asked, whispering and hoarse.

"Of course." Dwalin tried to leverage himself to give Nori a better view, but Nori was not looking at his body anymore. He stared into Dwalin's eyes and leaned in until their mouths met. The kiss was longer than their usual, Nori more probing. Dwalin hummed a little, pleased, and came up to kneel himself. He wrapped his arms around Nori, who did not protest being dripped upon. "Please do," he added, groping to find where and how the robe might come apart.

Nori's long fingers pressed up beneath his palms. Dwalin groaned, frustrated, and was shocked at his own impatience. He stood up, pulling Nori with him, and there was a brief moment of struggle before Nori slipped away. "Slow down," said Nori. "I want to look at you."

"Could have done already," Dwalin muttered. Even as he spoke, he was aware that he was striking a pose, looming. His brow lowered, and he looked down at himself.

Mahal's apron was withdrawn and hidden in his pelt; he was used to that. Most startling were his gemstones, no longer set into a hammer, but spread out low on his belly like a jeweler's display. They seemed to gleam with more than water, and Dwalin touched himself gingerly. He _was_ slick somehow, and sensitive as ever. Nori inhaled sharply, and Dwalin made his fingers part of the show. Indeed, he thought, the jewels were beautiful, though they had never been placed like this before. His first -- a small blue sapphire, from Balin just after Dwalin's majority -- sat alone at the very top. Below it were three round beads of jet, memorials of his first battles and his first shield-brothers. There was the great flawed diamond that had been Thorin's gift, and had shocked him in their poverty at the time. His thumb slipped across its facets, pressing it into his flesh, and Dwalin gasped. Nori glanced up, openmouthed; then the knife-grin struck. "Feels good that way, doesn't it." His voice was not questioning. "Better than having a cock."

"It's not that different," Dwalin protested. In a way it wasn't -- it was still his body, and the jewel he'd worn for decades. But in a way it was nothing like, his flesh wet and hot and tender as if wounded, or as if he'd already come. Nori nodded. Then he leaned forwards and opened his mouth.

His breath was pleasantly cool against Dwalin's flesh, and then his tongue quick and soft and hot. Dwalin heard himself cry out, lust and joy and startlement, and Nori looked up and flashed the knife-grin again. "Easy," said Nori. "Come to bed. I'll slow down."

"Don't wanna slow down," Dwalin grumbled as Nori pulled away, but he stepped from the water and allowed himself to be led. His mind was whirling. He wanted to pick Nori up and throw him down among the quilts and pillows. He had no idea what he wanted, except to be touched and held and probably fucked, but how would that even feel...? Nori's smile stayed, warmer and softer, as he settled Dwalin on the bed. Back half reclining against the headboard, knees up and apart. Dwalin looked reflexively to the bedside table, where the jar of Oin's compliments resided, but Nori chuckled low and shook his head.

"Maybe later," he said, and then he was lying with his head on Dwalin's belly, mouthing along the jewels, fingers tracing between them. Dwalin's mind lit up with pleasure, hard and multifaceted as anything in the stone-sense. His fingers clenched senselessly in the blankets. Nori chuckled, turning his face aside, rubbing his beard between Dwalin's legs. It felt like silk and fire and Dwalin shouted, then gasped as Nori pulled his hands into his own, kissing the palms and sucking his fingertips. He bucked hard and Nori rode him out, not laughing anymore. Their eyes met and locked, and Dwalin locked his arms around Nori's shoulders, pulling him close. They kissed openmouthed until Dwalin found himself bucking again, thrusting helplessly, pulling at Nori's silken robe as if he would destroy it. Nori managed to wriggle out of it somehow, lean body turning and pressing so that Dwalin was crying out again. Then long clever fingers wound down through Dwalin's pelt, tweaked at his paps and tapped his jewels, and slipped into the heat of Dwalin's forge.

It didn't feel anything like being fucked as Dwalin had before. There was no resistance; his forge was open like a mouth and wet like one, and took Nori in like a bite or a kiss. First there was one finger, then two moving in counterpart as Dwalin clung helplessly to Nori's back. "Please," he said, or tried to say, and Nori whispered back, "Yes."

Dwalin's body went electric, shock after shock racing out from his center. There was no release as he came; it went on, harder and harder. He might have been screaming. Nori still murmured in his ear, a soft patter of verdigris, his fingers inside, clever and sure and opening Dwalin like a perfect key. When Dwalin shook his way back his eyes were clenched shut and his teeth; he needed perfect silence and darkness. The bed groaned as Nori's hand came to cup him gently, and Nori whispered again: "Yes." 


	111. Chapter 111

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more smutfluff. that's all that's left, is genderfuck, smut, and fluff. and there's not much left, for which i am sure everyone is glad XD

"Let me get you some water." Dwalin hardly heard Nori's words through the warm glow that suffused him, but he drank quickly enough when a cup was pressed into his hands. Cold water, sweeter than wine, dearer than coffee. Pure bliss. Dwalin quaffed the last of it and fell back among the pillows, feeling a silly grin spread across his face.

"Thanks," he managed, but more importantly he managed to snag Nori by the waist and pull him close. The touch lit up every nerve where skin met skin, molten copper pouring into Dwalin. "Thank you, oh, Nori, thank you...."

Nori laughed. "At your service, and thank you," he answered. The words were half-muffled as Dwalin dragged him around, rearranging the small, lithe form so he could surround Nori from behind.

They lay together for awhile, quiet and warm and comfortable. _Surround_ , thought Dwalin again. His let his fingers wander down from Nori's paps to his belly, where Mahal's apron was still withdrawn, Nori's cock half-hard under Dwalin's palm. The soft skin gave Dwalin an electric shiver, and he thought, _I'd like to surround that._. He curled his fingers to stroke Nori's length, felt his own insides melting soft and hot and wet again. "Hey," he whispered, "would you fuck me, hammer to forge?"

Nori's cock leapt and swelled in Dwalin's hand, and Dwalin grinned again. Though Nori's voice sounded diffident: "Sure....?"

"Good." Dwalin thrust against Nori from behind, the pressure on his jewelry exquisite. He turned Nori so they lay face-to-face, then rolled so he was on top. A voice in the back of his mind worried about the lack of slick; his hot, wet body laughed back. He was on and around Nori in an instant, _surrounding_ as he'd thought. Nori's cock was hard and hot and satisfyingly filling, and Nori's face flushed dark and his breath came hard and quick. They rocked together, slowly at first, then building to an avalanche of intensity. Dwalin moved as hard and fast as he ever had. Then he stopped abruptly, feeling himself tense all too soon -- but instead of spending to stillness he clenched inside, ripples of pressure and pleasure, hot and strong and unstoppable as a volcano creating diamonds. Nori stopped for a moment too, wide eyes green and wild. Then he shrieked aloud, spending, slick into slick as Dwalin held him, caressed him, rode him down until his eyes swept shut.

Dwalin rode him a little longer, aftershocks like those after an earthquake. The stone-sense flared up vividly -- the electrified copper of Nori in his arms, and a spark left of that deep within himself. Dwalin felt tender and loved, as if he'd been given something valuable as a gift. "That's why it's called spending," he whispered, realizing as he did that he must make no sense.

Nori pulled Dwalin down, tucking his face against Dwalin's neck, and Dwalin felt the knife-smile against the soft skin behind his beard. "I love you," Nori murmured, "and you're a gift to me, not a cost."

"Love you too," said Dwalin, too touched by the latter part to reply to it. He held Nori close and turned over so that the smaller dwarf lay over him like a living blanket, silk robe still hanging around them.

Nori's breath evened out and for once he snored, albeit quietly. Dwalin, still wakeful, held him for a long time. When Nori murmured in his sleep and rolled away, Dwalin rose from the bed. He got more water, dimmed the light, and on a hunch opened the door. Just outside was a basket full of roast pork and new bread, still warm under a folded towel; there was an earthenware flagon keeping ale cool. He picked those up, and found also a large chunk of chocolate wrapped in paper and sealed with a red-wax stamp of a rose. Obviously Balin's indulgence. Dwalin wanted very much to speak with his brother, but for now he took the gift inside.

Nori woke up briefly while Dwalin ate, accepting a slug of ale and a bite of chocolate. "Are you pregnant now?" he asked, voice blurred with sleep and contentment.

Dwalin considered, attempting the stone-sense at his own insides. There was electricity there, but no sense of a person, only a distinct potential. "I don't know," he confessed. "Maybe I'm still thinking about it...?" he added uncertainly.

Nori smiled, wide and warm. "You think on it," he said as his eyes closed again. Dwalin lay down beside him, and fell asleep with that spark alive within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a note on pronouns and syntactic gender: a dwarf is "he" in dwarvish terms, including the dwarvish usage of westron and in khuzdul, until becoming a dwarrow-dam -- that is the bearing mother of a living child. after that "she" is permissible and considered honorific, although "he" remains acceptable for those who may not know the individual's reproductive history or dwarvish customs.
> 
> (n.b., i made that up. other khuzdul-players may have entirely different ideas XD)


	112. Chapter 112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter. more genderfuckfluff. there may be another chapter of a side-story, and i'll answer any lingering inquiries in comments perhaps?

Dwalin woke to Nori making a small, pleased sound, and smiled before he even opened his eyes. Nori was cuddled up beside him, not snoring anymore, almost purring. Dwalin buried his face in Nori's hair -- he must have gotten up and brushed it; it fell wild around them -- and kissed his ear. Nori's breath caught and he said, "Hey," his voice strangely thick.

"What is it?" said Dwalin, pushing Nori's hair out of his eyes and trying to sit up. "Is something wrong?"

'No, not at all, or maybe?" His voice was still odd, low and breathless.

Dwalin's other senses remained peaceful, years of battle-readiness leaving him calm and assured. There was the warm spark in his belly and Nori like slow-flowing copper, soft pillows and furs around them and the lingering smells of chocolate and sex. He wrapped an arm around Nori, arranged himself against the headboard and Nori's back against his chest. "Everything's fine," he said, feeling certain of it. "What are you..." He trailed off. Nori half-turned in his arms, and by the dim light, Dwalin could see that Nori's body had changed.

Nori peered up at him, defiant as thief had ever been to guard. "I'm as I should be," he said roughly. "Even if it's been a hundred years and more, even if I can't fuck you like that again."

"You're perfect," said Dwalin, gazing down. Nori's eyes and voice were sharp, but his body was warm and lax, and his face through the thick loose hair looked as delicate as a deer's in the forest. Dwalin felt the smile creeping back across his face. Nori had kindled. Mahal's apron had lifted, and his unornamented hammer (Dwalin could have kicked himself; how could he have dwelt in Erebor's treasures for so long and not given his beloved even the token of a jewel?) lay in a round of bare, pink skin against his deep-red pelt. Below that, flushed purple, was the mouth of his heated forge. The whole of it was wet, as were Nori's fingers, gleaming in the low light. "You've been touching yourself." He twined his own fingers into the fur around Nori's paps, restraining himself from touching similarly.

Nori's eyes widened and he nodded, silent now. Dwalin kissed him again, very softly, holding the gaze before pulling back. "I couldn't help it," Nori whispered. "It's been so long, but it's still, this is still right."

"Of course it is," said Dwalin, because of course it was. It was a miracle almost beyond imagining "Mahal blesses us." He would not touch Nori's changes without explicit permission, but he allowed one fingernail to drag slowly across one pap, and relished Nori's little gasp.

"But we can't, two women can't, can't stay together." Nori's voice held the pain and tension and regret of a lifetime, and for a moment Dwalin could have killed Dori, sensible reasoning be damned.

"We can, Nori," he said instead. "We aren't women of Men. We could be dwarrow-dams together," his own voice hitched at the thought, "like Dis and Farli."

"Who?"

"My cousin and her wife. Thorin's sister, Fili and Kili's mothers. I'm sorry," he said slowly, remembering their different stations of life in Thorin's Halls. "You probably didn't know them." Saying the names hurt, the loss of his lads, the broken line of Durin. Then like an echo he sensed the seam of gold that was Thorur, somewhere not far away, and the bright spark inside himself, and the magical potential of Nori gleaming in their bed. "Mahal blesses us," he said again, and his voice cracked.

"We could get married?" Nori sounded so flatly disbelieving that Dwalin laughed again.

"Yes, yes we could," Dwalin tried to answer earnestly. "It's not common for a pair of dwarrow-dams," he swallowed hard at the phrase, "just because it's not common to _be_ a dwarrow-dam. But if you wanted to raise my children, well. I would surely want to raise yours." Now he was in earnest, entirely.

"Huh!" It was almost a laugh. Nori shifted closer, dropping his head onto Dwalin's chest, his arm across Dwalin's middle. Dwalin rather hoped they'd stay on the topics of being dwarrow-dams and raising children together, but Nori went on, "Ori wants to marry Bifur."

Dwalin nodded. "I saved the boar's fangs. I have an idea to make tokens," and the design flared up in his mind. Right upper for Bifur, right lower for Ori, left lower for Nori, left upper for himself; Ur and Ri transposed with the crown of Durin above (he felt for the golden gleam of Thorur and shivered) on the outsides, and on the inner a personal sign -- a key for Nori, a quill for Ori, a boar (redundant but twice earned, he thought) for Bifur, and an axe for himself. He would use gold and jet for the inlays, and hang them from golden chains. "They could be wedding charms," he added, sounding (at least to himself) a bit coquettish.

"Heh." If he sounded that way to Nori, at least Nori found it amusing. Encouraged, Dwalin nuzzled down into Nori's hair, blessedly free of sharp objects.

"If this is the right way for you to be," he asked, wondering if it were still possible at this point to be too forwards, but carrying on: "what's the right way for you to be fucked?"

Nori bit him, which seemed to Dwalin a fine way to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> und so ein Ende!
> 
> wow, i cannot believe that.
> 
>  
> 
> all love and gratitude to my readers, commenters, and the lovely nwalin corner. <3333333 
> 
> *blows kisses*
> 
> *runs and hides*


End file.
